Reunion, Part Three
by loobeyloo
Summary: Stringfellow Hawke may be down, but he is certainly not out, and with Mackenzie's help, he might yet be able to bring his mission to a satisfactory conclusioin, but in so doing, where does that leave him and Mack?
1. Chapter 1

_REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

Chapter One

Monday – Sunrise.

Stringfellow Hawke forced his eyes open and drew in a shallow, ragged breath.

He was feeling hot, light headed and confused, unsure what had roused him from a very disturbing dream.

And then he realised that he was not alone.

Someone was holding his hand.

He raised his head very carefully and forced his fuzzy vision to focus on the person standing beside him and his breath again caught in his throat.

A ghostly figure, clad from head to foot in white ….

_**Archangel?**_

No, this figure was definitely female, for she had long white hair falling around her shoulders ….

He blinked and tried to refocus on the face before him.

Yes, a woman, with soft features and bright, concerned brown eyes looming over him ….

Smiling benignly down at him ….

A beautiful angel ….

Not a ghost then.

Not Gabrielle either ….

He had been dreaming about her.

Gabrielle.

Listening to her soft voice imploring him to cling on to life ….

Telling him that she loved him, but that his time wasn't up yet …. That he should live …. Fight ….

Hawke's heart skipped a beat.

No, not the ghost of Gabrielle after all.

_**Was she angry with him? Is that why she wasn't here to greet him?**_

He blinked his eyes rapidly several times to try to clear his vision and subsided back against his pillows, trying to bring his thoughts into some semblance of order ….

Trying to bring to mind what he had been doing, the last thing he remembered.

Oh yes.

_**Dying.**_

_**Am I in Heaven or am I in Hell ….**_

No wonder he had been escorted by a parade of ghosts …. St John, Gabrielle ….

Mackenzie Jarvis …..

Obviously she was still on his mind and he had that dratted High School Reunion invitation to thank for it, dredging up memories and emotions he simply could not handle.

_**So, which was it?**_

_**North or South?**_

_**Definitely south, if the heat was anything to go by ….**_

_**No less than he deserved …**_

_**Eternal Hellfire and damnation ….**_

"Dom!" He exclaimed suddenly trying to sit up, eyes frantically searching the darkened room he now found himself in, and realised as excruciating pain suddenly shot through the whole upper left side of his body, that he wasn't dead after all.

"Lie still, Mr Hawke …."

"Mack?" His voice sounded alien as he forced his eyes to settle on the face now swimming into focus before him, wondering why he had uttered that name when his thoughts had so recently been centred on Gabrielle, and he began to comprehend that this was not some spectral illusion conjured up by his dying, oxygen starved brain.

She was real.

But she wasn't Mackenzie Jarvis, and he felt the disappointment like a physical blow to his guts.

She had seemed so real, had felt so tangible, her loving arms cradling him to her as she rocked him and comforted him …

No, that had been Gabrielle ….

Hadn't it?

_**Oh hell ….**_

It had just been a dream, a fever induced hallucination, a confused jumble of images from the past.

And now that the fog was beginning to clear his brain, Hawke realised that this was no angel.

It wasn't white hair falling around her shoulders, but a stiff white veil. She was clad in a modest white linen dress which fell to well below her knees and was belted at the waist with a simple piece of linen cloth, and from which hung a simple wooden crucifix attached to the end of a set of Rosary beads.

Nurse?

No. The crucifix and the beads gave it away.

An angel of the ministering kind ….

A Nun.

She proved to him that she was indeed real now, by reaching out to place her one hand lightly against his shoulder and pressed him back against the mattress, while the other came up to rest against his hot brow.

"Welcome back, Mr Hawke. My name is Sister Eve."

The sister took her hands away from his shoulder and forehead and moved further into the soft pool of yellow sunlight streaming in through the gaps in the blinds at the window.

"You had us worried for a while there, but everything is going to be just fine …." She assured him gently.

"Where …." He croaked frowning at the strangeness of his voice, so weak and thin and groggy.

"You are in hospital, Mr Hawke. You had …. "She faltered just for a moment, obviously struggling to find the right word. "An accident," she continued, reaching out to take his wrist between her fingers, seeking out his pulse once more, the job she had been doing just as he had regained consciousness.

"Where's Dominic?" he asked, aware now of the dryness of his mouth and the tackiness of his tongue as he spoke, watching her brow crease in concentration as she counted out the beats of his heart.

"Mr Santini is just down the hall. He is sleeping."

"He's ok?"

_**Thank God ….**_

Last thing he remembered was the sound of that horrible rattling exhalation filling his helmet, what he had feared was Dominic Santini's dying breath ….

"He will be just fine," she reassured, gently replacing his hand on the mattress now. "His wounds were not life threatening," she told him, again moving back into the light.

"You should try to get some rest, Mr Hawke," she raised her voice slightly now, trying to inject a little authority into it. "And please try to keep still. We had to perform surgery on your shoulder …."

His shoulder?

_**Oh yes.**_

Now he remembered.

Oh yes, he remembered it all ….

Hawke let out a long, ragged breath and closed his eyes, briefly.

Yes, he remembered the whole wretched debacle.

"Where am I?"

"There will be time enough for questions later, Mr Hawke, for now, please just try to relax, and let us take care of you," Sister Eve advised solemnly as she leaned in a little closer, taking in the soft flush on his cheeks and the sparkle in his eyes, although when she had taken his temperature a little while ago, she had been relieved to find that it confirmed that his fever was still coming down.

His temperature was down to 101° and his blood pressure and heart rate were slowly returning to within normal ranges.

He wasn't quite out of the woods just yet, but the signs were encouraging.

"I'm quite serious, Mr Hawke. You're still quite poorly …. You've had a fever," she explained when he continued to regard her in confusion. "You lost a lot of blood too."

Ah yes, so that was why he felt so weak and drained ….

"I remember …."

"You don't need to worry about that now, Mr Hawke. Just close your eyes and go back to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up …."

"Where am I?" He demanded gruffly again.

"Africa. The Kingdom of Zarundi, to be more precise. Now that's enough questions for one day. Go back to sleep, Mr Hawke. There will be time enough for questions when you are well …."

"But I can't just lie here …." He protested, struggling to try to sit up, but the pain that suddenly wracked his body robbed him of breath and brought tears to his eyes.

"I don't want to sleep. There's stuff I need to do. People I have to talk to …. Dom, I want to see Dom …. I _**need**_ to see Dom …."

"All in good time, Mr Hawke, now please, calm yourself …."

Hawke sank back against his pillows because he had no strength to do anything else, his body suddenly feeling heavy and lifeless and he realised that he was still feeling the effects of the anaesthetic they had obviously administered so that they could fix his shoulder and take out the bullet ….

"I can't …. Got to ….." He continued to protest, his heart suddenly filled with fear and dread.

_**Airwolf! **_

He had to go check on Airwolf, make sure that she was secure.

He had to get her out of sight ….

He had to get her back to the Lair ….

He had to contact Archangel ….

He had to tell him what had happened back there in Kembala and Cimbawe, and he had to find out what they should do with Robert Nimbani's body ….

He needed to kick somebody's ass for getting him into this mess in the first place, and he needed to do some serious damage to whoever it was who had betrayed them ….

But right now, he couldn't keep his eyes open ….

The darkness was creeping in from the corners of his vision and his body felt as though it was a dead weight, and he didn't have the strength to fight it.

Fleetingly he wondered if his ministering angel had given him something to knock him out, for now his brain was starting to feel sluggish and slow as though stuffed with cotton wool, and his eyelids were growing heavy, but, he silently conceded, it wasn't an unpleasant sensation ….

"That's right, Mr Hawke. Rest now. The doctor will be in to see you later …." The nun spoke in a soft, reassuring voice and he could feel her plumping up his pillows and straightening his bed linens as his eyes fluttered closed.

_**Good, the head honcho …. **_

_**Someone with some authority ... **_

_**Someone to brow beat into cutting me lose so I can take us home ….**_

Hawke thought groggily, unable to keep his eyes open any longer, and although he tried to fight against it he soon found himself succumbing to the sensation of sinking into a deep cushion of velvety blackness, comfortable, warm and safe ….

Where Mackenzie Jarvis waited to welcome him into her arms, her big green eyes filled with love, a gentle, adoring smile on her lips as she drew him into the comforting circle of her embrace and kissed him ever so lightly on the lips ….

And he did not find it at all strange that _**this **_Mackenzie Jarvis was not a shy, gauche teenager, but a mature young woman.

All that mattered was that her arms were just as welcoming, her lips just as soft and her kisses so ardent and so sweet and filled with such promise, and as he allowed himself to be enveloped by her embrace, and relaxed into her arms, as he drank deeply of her lips and slipped his arms around her too and drew her softness closer to him, inexplicably, Stringfellow Hawke suddenly felt as if he had finally come home ….

**Several thousand miles away,**

**Knightsbridge, Headquarters of The Firm.**

"Anything?" Michael Coldsmith Briggs III regarded his assistant, Marella with eager expectation as she entered his office, bringing with her a tray of fresh coffee, for which he blessed her with a smile.

He suspected that it was going to be another long and uncomfortable night.

Marella still looked immaculate in her white slacks, blouse and thin sweater, but there were telltale lines of fatigue around her dark, obsidian eyes.

Archangel knew that he probably didn't look much better himself, and he felt like he had been wearing the same clothes for a week, although in reality, it had only been two days.

The sun was now beginning to set, filling the big picture window behind him with a riot of colours, gold, purple, crimson, and briefly he imagined the same colours illuminating the African sky, only instead of setting, and bringing to a close this long and frustrating Sunday, it would rise and welcome in a more hopeful Monday.

"Not yet, Sir, but we only moved the satellite into position four hours ago …." Marella reminded him, pouring out a cup of strong, thick black coffee into a white bone china cup and passing it to him and again he smiled, acknowledging what a coup that must have been for her.

"I guess it is a big place …."

"A big, empty place," Marella sighed pouring her self a cup of coffee now. "Even I didn't realise just how much of Africa is …. Uninhabited."

"By human beings at least." Archangel sighed. "And Hawke and Airwolf could be just about anywhere," he sighed again. "Any word from the other Agencies? Any idea about what actually happened out there?"

"No," her expression changed now, and Archangel suddenly realised what had happened in the hours since they had last spoken.

Everyone else had no doubt divorced themselves from the debacle and scurried back to their respective hideaways, like rats disappearing down sewer pipes, to formulate their defences and apportion blame elsewhere, unwilling to take ownership for the shambles on the Dark Continent, eager to cover their own backs.

"I guess everyone packed up their kit bags and headed off back to Washington, huh? Not their problem?"

"Right. Not their problem."

"How nice to be able to simply wash their hands of any responsibility like that …."

"That's what you get for playing with guys who aren't averse to eating their own …."

"Mmmmm."

"Have you seen the ZNN coverage?" she asked now, her tone one of disgust and disbelief.

"Indeed I have …."

And after an hour or so of watching the triumphant and jubilant General Joshua Mendofa' smug, grinning face as he strutted across the screen, sticking two fingers up at the US, if only metaphorically, with every word that came out of his mouth, Archangel had shut the thing off, before he had succumbed to the desire to emulate Elvis and shoot out the screen with his service weapon.

"Hardly unbiased reporting …."

"What else can they do? Probably had one of the General's aides holding a gun to their backs," Archangel pointed out and Marella responded with a deep sigh.

"What about the Russians?" Archangel asked now, setting down his coffee cup on the desk before him.

"Again, still no word from them."

"That's encouraging."

This drew a frown from Marella.

Was he being serious, or sarcastic? It was sometimes difficult to tell with Michael ….

"I'm not so sure. If they have Airwolf, they probably don't want to brag about it, because they'd have a lot of explaining to do about how they acquired her …."

"And so would we …."

"Mendofa is emphatically denying that the Russians had anything to do with quashing the coup, so maybe they didn't. It's his power struggle after all, not theirs. They are only interested in the Uranium."

"Five will get you ten that they supplied the weapons and ammunition that annihilated Colonel Kubasa and his men, and in my book that makes them equally responsible. I wish I knew exactly what happened out there …."

He let out a deep sigh and paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

"The more I think about it, the more I keep coming back to how Mendofa knew that they were coming, and how he was able to be so prepared …."

Archangel pondered now, gently rubbing his chin with his right index finger, and realising that he was going to have to shave again as he encountered the five o'clock shadow sprouting from his chin.

"From what I read of the mission brief, that barracks was supposedly all but abandoned three months ago, because it was too far off their main supply route to adequately maintain. The regiment that was stationed there had been moved to the capitol, to help guard Mendofa and that just left a handful of trainees, what amounted to a bunch of raw recruits, allegedly, to guard what is, also allegedly, a safe border," Archangel reclined in his seat now, reaching out to lift his coffee cup to his lips and taking a sip.

"And that's why we jumped at the chance to mount a rescue mission. The original intelligence we had indicated that there was only a small military presence and that they would easily be overcome by the KPLA's forces," Marella surmised.

"Not quite easily Marella, after all, these were supposed to be the most elite troops in Mendofa's Army," he reminded. "The KPLA were training to expect some small resistance," he caught his bottom lip between his teeth, briefly, growing silent and thoughtful before adding; "Hardly a cake walk, but they probably weren't expecting a full scale ambush either. So, why keep Nimbani there?"

"Better than in the city, I guess? Some place remote, some place far enough away so he couldn't inspire an uprising on Mendofa's doorstep?"

"Perhaps, but if it were me, I'd put him in a nice big prison some place, lose him amongst the general population, hide him in plain sight, not single him out and put him under guard in the least protected outpost on a distant border …. After all, he wasn't supposed to be that big a threat …. Keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer …."

"Put like that, it doesn't make sense, Sir," Marella concurred. "If we'd put this mission together, we would undoubtedly have questioned the validity of the information received."

"The more I think about it, the more I'm beginning to believe that we got suckered. All of us, the CIA. FBI. The Department of Defence …. We were told what we wanted to hear, and we fell for it …."

"They baited the hook and reeled us in …." Marella sighed. "But why? The threat _**is**_ very real. The Russians _**are**_ there in Kembala and they have staked a claim to the Uranium ore …."

"Marella, at this juncture, I'm not even sure of that anymore. I mean, the same people who provided us with the information about the Uranium also provided us with the Intel for Hawke's mission …. It wouldn't be difficult to double bluff us, get the people we usually use and trust to verify their information, just to make sure that we acted on it …. A mole, a rogue agent, greasing a palm here and there to get someone to turn a blind eye, or lie …. to tell us in just convincing enough terms, exactly what we wanted to hear."

"All this just to get their hands on Airwolf?" Marella spluttered, the sip of coffee she had just taken going down the wrong way at the thought and she hastily lifted her hand to wipe away a dribble that had escaped from the corner of her mouth before, it slid off her chin and stained her pristine white sweater.

"No, I don't even think it's about that. I think it's about making us all look like idiots …. And boy have they succeeded from where I'm sitting. It's all about the publicity for Mendofa. The propaganda machine churning away, manipulating the situation to make it look like Mendofa has good cause to do what he's doing out there." Archangel mused now.

"It's about doing away with Robert Nimbani in such a way that no-one would be able to make a federal case out of it. Mendofa wins hands down, he gets what he wants, the Presidency, his main rival out of the way, quelling any further possibility of an uprising from within his own country, making it clear that he will not tolerate any form of opposition, and eliciting the sympathy of every other tin pot dictator in the region, allying with him against the meddlesome US, outraged at our trying to interfere in their policies and way of government."

"And we fell for it."

"And we fell for it," he concurred.

"And you think the Russians provided the false verifications?"

"No way to prove it …. But yes. They'll do just about anything to make themselves look good, and us look incompetent …."

His voice trailed away then as he realised that no matter what the truth was about what lay behind the failure of this mission, it was of little consolation to Hawke and Santini, wherever they were.

"How long before we have all the data from the satellite?"

"Several hours yet, Sir. Like you said, it's a big place …."

"How difficult can it be to conceal one Mach 1 super helicopter?" he drawled sarcastically, although he knew that it was tantamount to looking for a needle in a haystack.

"Don't answer that. We both know that Stringfellow Hawke is a resourceful fellow, if he can hide her from our own satellites in his own back yard, it won't be hard for him to keep her out of sight, even in Africa."

"Where do the committee stand on this, Sir?"

"Do you really want to know, Marella?"

"Sir?"

"Zeus' first reaction was to accuse Hawke of using the opportunity to renege on his deal with The Firm. He even went so far as to imply that Hawke had toddled off to Asia to use Airwolf to find St John himself," Archangel sighed deeply in frustration and disbelief. "Sometimes I wonder about that man …."

"Sir …."

"He doesn't seem to be able to grasp the concept that Stringfellow Hawke is a genuinely loyal and trustworthy fellow and that the thought of using Airwolf for his own devices probably hasn't even entered Hawke's head."

"It's Zeus' job to be suspicious of everyone and everything …."

"Pity he failed to do it in this case, then isn't Marella, for it he had just had one grain of doubt, one iota of suspicion, we wouldn't be sitting here discussing it, and Airwolf and Hawke and Santini would be tucked up in their respective bolt holes and all would be right with the world …."


	2. Chapter 2

_REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

Chapter Two

Tuesday – Mid morning.

"Oh man, I really got start taking more water with it," Dominic Santini groaned, his pale features twisted into a grimace of pain as awareness began to return and he forced his eyes to flutter open, briefly.

His head felt thick and sluggish, his mouth dry, as though his tongue were too big for it, his eyes gritty, then suddenly moist, as tears filled them, a reaction to the sudden brightness that greeted them.

He blinked rapidly, and drew in a reassuring breath, carefully at first, expelling it slowly on a soft moan.

Ignoring the tears that were streaming down his cheeks, he tried to open his eyes once more but found the light was still too bright, however what he was able to make out of his surroundings reassured him, for they seemed to be a pretty good representation of a standard hospital room, warm and quiet and smelling vaguely of antiseptic and disinfectant.

Where ever he was, he was safe.

He suddenly gave a jerking start as his memory returned, like a physical blow to his belly, and he grimaced again, this time with a deeper awareness of the nagging pain he could now feel radiating throughout his back and chest.

He was still alive.

That thought startled the hell out of him.

His second thought terrified him.

_**"String!"**_ He exclaimed, trying to sit up, but suddenly found himself restrained by a pair of gentle hands.

His eyes flew open and he found himself looking up into the pleasant features and deep green eyes of a white Western or European woman. She had placed one hand gently but firmly against his shoulder whilst the other was reaching out to take one of his big mitts reassuringly into her own small hand.

"Relax," she spoke softly, but there was a note of authority in her voice. "You're safe," she reassured. "This is a Mission hospital," she explained patiently, her deep green eyes never leaving his face, and he recognized the accent now as being English.

"You had a serious wound, but we patched you up, and the good news is, you will be just fine, if you do as you are told, and behave yourself," she smiled gently down at him now, and gave his hand a light squeeze. "There was some soft tissue damage, but nothing life threatening," she assured with another light pat to his hand.

"String?" His voice was weak and thin, and he ran his tongue lightly over his lips to moisten them, his expression anxious, rheumy grey eyes drilling into her pleasant open young features.

"Your colleague is resting quietly. He had a serious wound to his shoulder, and had a high fever, but he is responding well to treatment now," she again patted his hand reassuringly.

"How long have I been staring at the inside of my eyelids?"

His question brought a smile to her lips and utterly transposed her plain features into something incredibly beautiful.

And some how vaguely familiar.

Santini frowned, focusing his concentration and staring hard at her, wondering what it was about her that made him think that they had met before, but the answer remained elusive in his dull brain, and he sank back against his pillow with a weary sigh.

"Well?"

"A couple of days."

"A couple of days!"

"Relax," again a hand was gently pressing against his shoulder, encouraging him to lie back against the plump, soft pillows. "You didn't miss anything," she smiled.

"When can I see my friend?"

"When I say so."

"And that will be when?" He scowled up at her now.

"When I say so," she was grinning at him now and he wondered what she found so amusing.

"And who are you, girlie?" He growled, reaching up to knuckle away an errant tear as it rolled slowly down his rough cheek, only to find that he had a drip secured to the back of his hand.

"Me doctor, you patient."

He regarded her coolly now.

She was young, yes but not as young as he had first thought and he now estimated her age to be roughly about the same as String, somewhere in the mid thirties.

And dammit, there it was again, that niggling sensation in the back of his mind that she looked familiar to him.

She seemed to be studying him too, no doubt assessing his medical condition as well as his mood.

"He is going to be all right, isn't he?" He narrowed his eyes now as he regarded her with a degree of suspicion, his heart suddenly racing faster in his chest. "There's something you're not telling me, girlie."

"That would be _**doctor, **_girlie," Mackenzie Jarvis captured her top lip between her teeth in a bid to prevent herself from grinning.

She knew that she needed to be serious although her heart was filled with joy and fondness at seeing his dear old face again, her memories of him only happy and pleasant, he and his young friend being two of the few people she remembered from the days of her youth, with any kind of affection.

It felt so much better to have these warm, tender feelings for him than all the anxiety and overwhelming grief she had felt just a few hours ago, as she had cradled Stringfellow Hawke in her arms and willed him to fight, to live.

Dominic Santini had always made her smile.

He had always made her feel comfortable and welcome and needed.

That had not changed, and she was glad that he was making a remarkably complication free recovery from his recent misadventure.

"Dr smart ass," Santini muttered under his breath, but she heard his comment and chewed a little harder on her top lip to prevent herself from laughing out loud. "What ain't you telling me?" He demanded pinning her with an angry scowl.

"Calm yourself," she gave his hand a gentle squeeze with her warm, soft fingers. "Your friend lost a lot of blood, and as I have already told you, he has a fever. Last I heard, he was sleeping, which is what you should be doing too," she chastised lightly. "You're not going to give us any trouble, are you?" She wiggled her eyebrows at him and again tried to conceal a smile.

"No Ma'am, at least not unless you give me trouble," he told her with a note of defiance in his voice, and again, this drew a smile from her, and once again, Dominic Santini could not shake the feeling that he should know exactly who she was, and that her present amusement stemmed from the fact that she recognised him but that he didn't know who she was.

"Now give it to me straight, will ya. Will he live?"

"Too damned right he will, if I have any say in the matter!" she shot back. "We've done everything that we can to make sure that he pulls through. We removed the bullet from his shoulder, sealed the artery and replaced the blood and fluids that he lost, and we're pumping him full of the strongest broad spectrum antibiotics we have, and a sedative to keep him calm, because I don't want him thrashing around, or trying to get out of bed, at least until I'm sure that artery won't open up again, I do so hate having to do the same job twice."

She paused to draw in a breath and noticed the way that he was looking at her, with deep suspicion and wariness, and she decided that he was strong enough to hear all of it.

"It was touch and go for a time, I won't lie to you. He had us worried, but he rallied in the early hours of yesterday morning, and seems to be doing a little better now. Seems he has some fight in him after all, and you would know better than I, if he is just too damned stubborn to die."

She smiled softly at him again now, and gave his hand another reassuring squeeze, relieved that she was having this conversation with him today, when she could put a positive spin on it, and not twenty four hours before, when things had looked so bleak and desperate for his young friend.

"I've done my bit, the rest is up to him, and the 'big man upstairs', so if you think that you have some influence in that department, please don't let me stand in your way."

She kept her tone even and her gaze level, meeting his eyes with her own, so that he would know that she wasn't spinning him a line, and she saw him begin to relax, just a little, as he accepted her sincerity, and that what she was telling him was the truth.

"Ok, doc," he sighed in resignation then raised his other hand to rub it gently over his face, hoping to rid himself of the slow, sluggish feeling that was clouding his brain.

"So, where am I?" he asked with another heavy, weary sigh, his eyes beginning to feel heavy now, and he realised that she was right about him needing to sleep.

"Africa. Welcome to the Kingdom of Zarundi," she patted his hand gently again now. "How are you feeling? Is there anything that I can get for you?"

"Yeah, doc, how about a little hair of the dog," he moaned. "I feel like I've been on a three week bender and tied on a real doozey!"

"I'm sure you do," she grinned and squeezed his hand once more. "It will pass. You're still a little groggy from the anaesthetic and a sedative I ordered so that you would sleep through the night," she explained in patient but businesslike tones now.

"The pain meds will also make you feel a little woozy, and you are due another shot shortly, so you will probably just have to be patient and put up with that sensation for a little while. You need the analgesic. If you don't feel nauseous, I'll get someone to bring you some water. If that doesn't upset your system, I'll give orders that you can drink as much as you like. It will help to flush the drugs out of your system. Are you in pain now?"

"No," he answered quickly, too quickly, especially as she could see the tightness of his expression, especially around his eyes, and she arched an eyebrow indicating that she did not believe him.

"Well, ok, maybe, just a little …. Discomfort," he admitted with a rueful expression now.

"I'll get them to bring that shot straight away. It will just take the edge off. Make you feel a little more comfortable."

"No more sedatives," he told her defiantly again now, wanting and needing to keep his wits about him.

"We'll see."

"When can I see String? My friend?"

"Give yourself a little time …."

Her voice trailed away as she saw the glare he was giving to her, and could not help feeling glad that the two men still seemed to be as close as she remembered.

"I want to see him," he glowered at her.

"I know you do," she sighed deeply, keeping her tone light, not wanting him to get himself worked up or over excited.

"And he wants to see you too," she told him, recalling Sister Eve's report that when he had regained consciousness the first thing Stringfellow Hawke had wanted was to know about his friend, and had demanded to see him.

When she had looked in on him last night, Hawke had been calm and sleeping peacefully, his breathing even and regular his colour still a little high, but there was no sign of delirium, no perspiration glistening on his brow. He was quiet and still, deep in a peaceful, restorative slumber, although he had drifted in and out of consciousness on and off throughout the day, she had noted from his chart.

Now, Mackenzie Jarvis regarded Dominic Santini with soft green eyes, genuinely pleased to see him looking so well after his recent misadventures.

She knew that it was only natural that Dominic Santini would want to see for himself that the younger man was alive and doing well, and she could empathise with him, but right now, he needed to rest and get back some of his strength, and the staff needed room to work on the younger man without tripping over visitors.

She hadn't lied to Santini, but things were still uncertain as far as Hawke was concerned. His temperature continued to be of concern. It was dropping, down to 100° now, a huge improvement, but still not quickly enough for her liking because it meant that the infection still had a hold.

He was young and extremely fit and if he had retained half the obstinacy and determination that she recalled of the sportsman he had been in his youth, then he would fight to beat this infection.

Whatever it was, it was something that she hadn't come across before, but she was sure now, that it was the same thing that the dead man had been suffering from before the gunshot wound had killed him.

They were discovering new viruses all the time, some of them most decidedly unpleasant and deadly, like the haemorrhagic fevers she had read about in the medical journals she picked up from time to time when she went to Nairobi, all with exotic sounding names, like Ebola, Hantavirus and Rift Valley Fever, but all ending with the same result.

A very unpleasant and protracted death.

Hawke was fortunate that this fever did not fall into that category, although it was proving to be stubborn to control.

After concluding the autopsy on the African man, she was pretty sure that the bullet, from a high velocity weapon, certainly not any kind of weapon that she had seen used by hunters all over this continent, that she had removed from Hawke's shoulder, had first travelled through the dead man, taking with it the virus that had caused the fever that had wracked his body.

Hawke wasn't quite there yet, but now that the fever had broken he was on the road to recovery, and she felt less anxious about leaving him to take her planned trip to Nairobi.

His vital signs were all getting stronger, and she knew that so long as he continued to improve, the Sisters were more than capable of providing the nursing care that Santini and Hawke required while she was away, after all, it would only be for a couple of days at most.

After leaving Hawke in the early hours of Monday morning, she had gone to the Church and sat quietly through the morning service and then after checking on the handful of patients in the main ward of the Infirmary, pleased to find the appendectomy patient she had operated on at the beginning of the previous week recovering nicely, wound healing and stitches due to come out in a few days, she had looked in on Stringfellow Hawke and Dominic Santini one last time before retiring to her room to sleep.

She had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep and woken almost eight hours later feeling more like herself, if not quite refreshed, and even more resolved that she must maintain her distance, emotionally, from Stringfellow Hawke.

As she worked through the rest of Monday, Mackenzie Jarvis had thrown herself into her work, and just after lunch, she had received a summons to the village, where she had spent a good portion of the afternoon and evening delivering the long overdue twin boys to King Joami's number three wife, and by the time she had gone to bed that night, she knew that she had regained most of her perspective and objectivity.

She had been tired, and fraught, worried for her patient and caught up in memories and emotions that she was not equipped to deal with.

She had been in shock, finding him like that, needing to react swiftly to his medical needs whilst caught up in a turmoil of memories and emotion that she had never really allowed herself to experience before.

She had been overwrought, not thinking straight, on the verge of hysteria, and she had lost her perspective.

Now with a couple of good night's sleep under her belt and time to get her thoughts and her emotions in order, she knew that she had over reacted, gotten things out of proportion.

She had lost sight of reality, briefly, but now with a little time and distance, she had regained her equilibrium and self control.

Stringfellow Hawke was a man, just like any other, and right now he was her patient.

And that was _**all**_ that he was to her.

When she had told him of her plans, Father Paddy had tried to talk her out of making the trip to Nairobi, but she had argued the point that they were fast running out of everything that they needed to survive, and she had been so calm and so reasonable, so like her usual self that the priest had had no choice but to accept her motives for leaving the Mission at this time.

"Look, Mr Santini, I promise you, as soon as I think that you are strong enough, I will take you to him myself," Mackenzie Jarvis patted Santini's hand once more.

"You just had surgery. All I am asking is that you give yourself a little time to heal and recover your strength. Your body has been through a lot. I'm not just talking about the gunshot wound. You appear to have had a nasty fall recently too, no broken bones, but you managed to get yourself quite a crop of nasty cuts and bruises. Besides, I already told you I don't like having to do a job over again. You need to give my needlework a little time to settle before you go rushing around."

She gave him a rueful smile now, but the look on his face did not waver, and she knew that he was not going to let the matter drop so easily.

"I'll heal faster, and get stronger quicker, when I've seen for myself that the young fella is ok."

_**Some things never change.**_

_**Thank God.**_

She was grinning broadly at him now, and this made Dominic Santini frown once more.

_**There it was again.**_

_**Who the hell was she?**_

"I thought you weren't going to give me any trouble …."

"Lady, you ain't seen nothin' yet!"

"I see I am going to have to get the big guns in here," she chuckled softly. "I am just a weak and feeble woman. Perhaps you will take more notice of Father Paddy, eh, Mr Santini?" she gave his hand another gentle squeeze, still grinning broadly.

"The Father is chomping at the bit to get in here and take your confession. I really don't want to have to play dirty, but I will, if I have to, and you'll make for the perfect captive audience for the good Father. He'll keep you tied to that bed for a week, when he gets warmed up."

"That's below the belt, girlie." Santini scowled then he began to frown once more.

"And just how the hell do you know my name?" he suddenly demanded, knowing that it was standard practice for neither himself nor String to carry any means of identification when they were flying an Airwolf mission, nothing with names, addresses or anything to indicate their nationality, on their clothes, in their belongings, and certainly not on their person. It was standard Firm operating procedure for under cover work.

And dammit, there it was again, that persistent little niggle in the back of his head, that feeling that he should know her.

She knew it too, for he could see the look of triumph in her deep green eyes.

"Who the hell are you, girlie?"

"A friend. I would have known you anywhere, Mr Santini, Stringfellow too. You haven't changed a bit," she smiled gently again, and then to his surprise, carefully leaned down to press soft, warm, dry lips to his rough cheek.

"And before you ask," she drew away now and continued to gaze down at him with warmth and affection and familiarity. "No, I am not in the habit of kissing my patients, only dear old friends."

"Old friends?" he stammered.

"Yes. It's been a long time, Dominic, may I call you Dominic?" She asked a little shyly now and he nodded, still frowning, wracking his brain for a name, any name, but coming up blank. "And I've changed, a lot, so I'll forgive you for not recognizing me," she smiled benignly at him, clearly able to see the confusion in his grey eyes now.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, still unable to place her, although there was something about her manner, the way she spoke, her mannerisms and those eyes ….

"I'm Mackenzie Jarvis, Mr Santini."

His eyes suddenly grew wide now at recognition of the name, and he realised that he hadn't been mistaken about their being something familiar about her, although he had to concede silently to himself, that it wasn't so much about the way she looked physically, as her demeanour, demure, gentle, genuinely concerned and patient.

She had always had a pleasant way about her, Santini recalled, feasting his eyes on her now.

She was right.

Physically she had changed, a lot, from what he vaguely recalled.

Back then she had been heavier, quite a bit heavier, her skin had been victim to the ravages of acne, her hair had been longer and she had required spectacles to see past the end of her nose.

The young woman standing beside him now was roughly five feet five inches tall, and had a nice figure, curves in all the right places not like those skinny, gawky girls that were all the fashion these days. Her skin was clear, the peaches and cream complexion that the British were famous for, and those big, sparkling dark green eyes, full or warmth and humour, which also seemed to mezmirize, and then there was that smile, man that smile was enough to knock a man clean off his feet.

She had grown up to be quite striking, not classically beautiful, but still pleasant and easy on the eye.

"Mack? That sweet young lady who used to help me out with my book work?"

"One and the same." She chuckled.

"Mama mia!"

"Now, Dominic, will you please listen to reason?" She grew serious and her expression grew stern. "You and Stringfellow are in good hands. Trust me. We will take good care of him, if you will promise to take good care of yourself, at least for a little while."

She kept her voice low and even.

"I'm not trying to trick you. There is no special reason why I want to keep you from seeing your son …. Oh I know, he's not, but for all intents and purposes he was back then, and I'm guessing he still is now. It's just that in my medical opinion, you both need time to recover. I don't want you getting a fever too. There's hardly enough ice to go around as it is, after all, we are in the middle of the desert here and our resources are limited," she allowed herself a soft smile then before continuing.

"I haven't lied to you about Hawke's condition. He is doing as well as can be expected, but it's still early days. He is still weak, and I don't want him getting excited and opening up that wound again. I would prefer that you stay away, at least for a little while, which in turn will give your body a chance to recover from your ordeal."

Put like that, Santini could see that she had a point, and knowing who she was now had made all the difference.

Mackenzie Jarvis, the girl he had known would never have lied to him, not straight to his face.

It didn't alter the fact that he was desperate to see String, but he understood that he would have to be patient and wait for the proper time.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to lie here, quietly, bidding his time, getting a feel for the place. After all, he wouldn't be able to help String if he needed medical assistance. All he would be able to do would be to sit beside him and watch him sleeping, hold his hand and say a few choice words to his Maker, as he had done many times before, and would willingly do so again, when they were out of this hole and back home, safe and sound.

The Mackenzie Jarvis he recalled had been a good kid.

It looked as if she had grown up into a fine young woman.

"Get some sleep, Mr Santini,"

"What happened to Dominic?"

"It just feels a little awkward," she grew a little bashful now, but her smile was still warm and genuine. "After all, the last time I saw you, I would never have dreamed of calling you by your first name."

"No, I remember that you were a well mannered kid, polite, and respectful of your elders," he smiled softly at her now. "You've done well for yourself."

"It took a lot of hard work, and a lot of sacrifice, but yes, I am where I always wanted to be, doing what I always dreamed of…."

_**So why did the words sound so hollow, even to her own ears? **_

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to look in on Stringfellow."

"Sure, sure …."

"Remember what I said about behaving yourself."

"Get outta here."

"Do we have a deal?"

"I guess I really don't have any choice, do I?"

"Very wise, Mr Santini. If you think I'm tough, try getting around Sister Mary, she will be attending to you from now on," she dropped her voice low and conspiratorial now.

"They do say she used to wrestle alligators in Florida, or was it bears in Montana …." and with that, she released his hand and walked toward the door on the other side of the room, where she stopped and then looked back at him, with another gentle smile on her lips.

"I promise you that everything will be alright, that Stringfellow will come through this, Mr Santini. You have my word on it, as a doctor, and as an old friend," Dominic Santini nodded gently in acceptance of her oath. "I'll drop by again, see how you are doing."

"Thanks doc."

"Get some sleep."

"Bossy boots."

"Father Paddy suffers from insomnia, I'll send him along to keep you company, shall I?"

"Don't bother, I'm sleeping, I'm sleeping, can't you see I'm sleeping!"

She gave a gentle laugh, a beautiful sound to Dominic Santini's ears then turned and walked gracefully out of the room, leaving Dominic Santini to ponder on where she had been and what she had done with her life since the last time he had seen her, and he suddenly recalled that day, fifteen years ago, when she had failed to show up at the hangar as planned, and his young friend had had one of his inexplicable tantrums, curious to know what it was that had happened between the two of them, yet suspecting that there had been something of a romantic nature unexpectedly blossoming between the pair, that he hadn't been privy too back then.

It must have been a recent development, because Santini did not think that the young man had even known that the sweet young English girl existed before he went off to fight in Vietnam, his head full of being with St John and doing his duty, but it was the only thing that could explain the sudden change in his mood and temper, and why String had gone off at the deep end that day, and Santini couldn't help wondering now, how his young friend would react when he woke up and found that she had been the one tending to his medical needs.

_**Uh oh …..**_

Light the blue touch paper and stand well back!


	3. Chapter 3

_REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

Chapter Three

"Mr Hawke, will you please try to calm yourself …. "

As she approached Stringfellow Hawke's room now, Mackenzie Jarvis could hear Sister Maud's slightly raised voice, obviously in response to something that Hawke had said or done, and pausing for a moment, to draw in a long, deep, calming breath, Mackenzie Jarvis found herself wondering if she was ready for this.

She had decided that the only way that she could deal with him, that she could face him, was to ensure that she was the one who was in control of the conversation, keep it to strictly business, and not give him any chance to use his charm on her.

_**The return of the Ice Maiden …. **_

_**Cool, calm and dignified.**_

"Now, Mr Hawke, please …." Sister Maud's voice was going up in pitch, an indication that she was growing anxious.

"Get out of my way, lady. I can't stay here any longer!"

Mackenzie Jarvis winced at the sound of Hawke's raised voice and found her self thinking that at least that answered her first question, the one about how he was feeling today ….

Obviously he was feeling well enough to give Sister Maud a hard time.

It was amazing just how quickly he had rallied.

On death's door one minute, and harrying the nursing staff the next ….

He was obviously a force to be reckoned with, and she thanked the Lord that he had it, for it was probably what had saved his life.

There was something to be said for obstinacy, she thought, knowing that he was just too stubborn and proud to admit to any kind of weakness.

Just like the boy he had been, refusing to give in to his need to grieve for his brother because it just wasn't what real men did ...

"Mr Hawke, please! Be reasonable …."

Poor Sister Maud, she was obviously fighting a losing battle and needed bailing out, because if Hawke tried to get out of bed and he tore open his shoulder wound, than there would be hell to pay all round.

Drawing in another deep breath, Mackenzie Jarvis knew that she had no choice. She had to go in and rescue Sister Maud, ready or not ….

"Good morning Mr Hawke."

Mackenzie Jarvis spoke in a loud, clear voice, framed in the doorway of Stringfellow Hawke's room, watching with dismay as he appeared to be half out of bed, one bare sun bronzed leg already hanging over the side of the bed as he wrestled to maintain his modesty with the thin cotton sheet, only succeeding in tangling himself up in bed linen and his IV line.

_**Lord but he was magnificent ….**_

_**So feisty and brooding, so determined to get his own way ….**_

_**So much for not allowing him to use his charms on her …. **_Mackenzie allowed herself a wry smile.

_**So much for her new found resolve.**_

Just one look at his handsome face and her knees were quaking and her stomach was tying its self in knots once again.

_**Oh hell ….**_

_**There really was no hope for her, no hope at all …. **_She lamented silently.

_**It didn't matter how many good intentions she had, or how many pacts she made with her Maker, she was a hopeless case.**_

_**A lost cause. **_

It had been difficult enough to cope with her feelings when he had been asleep, but now that he was awake ….

However, she dragged her gaze away from his handsome countenance and focused instead upon his left shoulder, relieved to find the pristine white dressing clean and securely in place.

_**That's better …. Strictly business, remember!**_

Immediately Sister Maud turned around in response to Dr Jarvis' voice and realising that here was possibly someone else he could rail rode, bully, bulldoze or generally intimidate until he got what he wanted, Stringfellow Hawke followed Sister Maud's gaze.

The look that settled on his face was precious; Mackenzie Jarvis could not stop herself from thinking, as she watched Hawke's amazingly blue eyes grow wide in both recognition and shock, and his bottom jaw drop open.

It was an expression she remembered from long ago, and once again it was almost her undoing.

It was no good.

She was going to have to think of another way of dealing with him, she told herself sternly, as her heart beat an irregular tattoo in her chest and her legs threatened to give way.

_**It was so damned unfair ….**_

A guy who had been _**that **_close to death shouldn't look so damned attractive ….

So delectable ….

_**And I know I asked him to fight …. But this is ridiculous!**_

_**Help me out here, please? If you want me to keep to my word, help me out ….**_

_**Oh God ….**_

"What seems to be the trouble, Sister?"

Dr Jarvis addressed Sister Maud now, unable to trust herself to look at Hawke for the look in his eyes at that moment was exactly the same as that night fifteen years ago, when he had looked down at her, as his lips had closed the gap between them ….

"Mr Hawke seems to think that he's well enough to leave us, Dr Jarvis."

"Oh does he," Mackenzie swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to move into the room now, walking somewhat stiffly to the foot of his bed to take down his medical chart, lowering her gaze to the graphs and notes that had been inscribed there since she had last looked, aware all the time of his beautiful blue eyes boring into her.

"Mack?"

She could hear the incredulity, the doubt in his voice, with just that one simple word. He wasn't sure if he was hallucinating, or dreaming, or if she really was the girl he remembered from fifteen years ago.

"Mackenzie?"

"Mr Hawke …."

_**Come on kiddo, time to get serious.**_

_**Time to get good and mad …. Because it's the only way you'll be able to get out of here with your dignity in tact!**_

She drew herself up to her full height now and forced her deep green eyes away from the medical chart, schooling her features into a cold, hard mask as she regarded him haughtily, and indicated to Sister Maud that she help the man back under the bed clothes.

_**Oh, so that was how it was going to**_ _**be …. **_

Stringfellow Hawke thought sourly to himself as he let out a deep sigh and tried to fend off the middle aged nun's hands as she fussed with the IV line and straightening the sheet.

"Doctor?" he scowled at Mackenzie Jarvis now.

_**If that's how you want to play it, then two can play at that game, Mack!**_

"Correct."

"When can I get out of here?" He demanded gruffly, quickly trying to cover his confusion at her brusque manner. "You can't keep me here …."

"What is your hurry, Mr Hawke? The service not to your taste?"

"I …. I can't stay here, I have things that I need to do. I have responsibilities …."

"Very well," she regarded him coldly. "You are not a prisoner here, Mr Hawke, and if you wish to discharge yourself, well, that is your right, however, before you do so, I should probably point out that you could bleed to death before you get a mile away from here …."

Stringfellow Hawke immediately stopped in his efforts to fend off Sister Maud's ministrations and turned his cool blue gaze back on Mackenzie Jarvis.

"I am so pleased to see that you are feeling better, Mr Hawke, but there is a big difference between feeling better, and actually being well enough to be discharged," she told him in low, businesslike tones.

"You have sustained a serious injury, from which you lost a considerable amount of blood, and are only just recovering from a fever. If you insist on leaving, I can't stop you, but rest assured, you will find yourself back here in no time, and I can't guarantee that next time I will be able to seal that artery in your shoulder," she told him pointedly. "These are the facts, Mr Hawke. Now, the choice is yours …."

She could see the war going on behind his eyes and knew that he did not like what she had told him, but she also knew that he was an intelligent, reasonable man.

She didn't need to spell it out for him.

"How's Dominic?" Hawke snarled now, obviously deciding that the wisest course of action was to change the subject.

_**There are just some battles you can't win ….**_

_**And some you shouldn't get into in the first place ….**_ He told himself succinctly.

_**Oh God, but she was a sight for sore eyes.**_

Almost exactly as he remembered, those deep, moss green eyes, twinkling yellow and gold at him ….

In complete contradiction to her rigid stance and icy tone.

There was so much that he wanted to ask her ….

So much that he wanted to say to her ….

But the signals that he was getting from her now were arctic and did not invite familiarity.

He should have realised ….

She obviously wasn't very pleased about his being here ….

And he should know why that was ….

"Mr Santini is doing well. He asked after you just a few moments ago," she told him succinctly.

"When can I see him?" Hawke demanded, eyeing Mackenzie Jarvis equally coolly, trying to hide the fact that he was still reeling at finding her here, and that she was real, and not some ghostly image that had haunted his fever induced nightmares ….

_**His dreams ….**_

Oh yes, this was the Mack from his dreams, not his dim and distant memory ….

_**And if she was real ….**_

_**Was it possible that what he remembered had been real too, and not just part of the nightmare ….**_

"When I say so," she told him brusquely.

"Which will be when?" He pressed, mesmerized by the way her eyes were sparkling and twinkling with irritation and annoyance, immediately reminding him of the way she had stood up to Chip all those years ago, all defiance and bristling indignation, fearless as she stood there, defending him, protecting him ….

"When I say so …." She gave a soft sigh now, beginning to feel like she was sounding like a broken record, and closed up his chart and slipped it back over the foot of the bed. "As I just got through telling him, you both need some time to recover from your injuries."

"I'm fine," he told her defiantly, although to Mackenzie Jarvis' practiced and critical eye he looked far from it.

Instead of the high flush to his cheeks, now that the fever had left him, his face had a definite grey tinge, beneath the purplish discolouration of stubble clinging to his chin and jaw, he looked gaunt, his cheeks were sunken and there were deep lines of fatigue and pain around his eyes.

She found herself marvelling at the fact that he was able to put up such a fuss, after all that he had been through, then realised that it was only his sheer force of will and utter stubbornness that was enabling him to keep upright, that and of course, adrenalin.

"You are not fine, Mr Hawke, and the sooner you accept that you are going to be here, at least for a little while, the sooner we will all be able to get on with the business of making you well again."

She moved around the foot of the bed now and started to walk toward the door.

"I am sure that if you behave yourself, keep still and quit bullying my staff, the time will go by much quicker, for all of us."

With that she marched out of his room, not trusting herself to stay a moment longer, her heart celebrating at the fact that he was so much better, so much stronger, so full of fire and life, when only a few hours ago she had thought that that she was losing him, wrestling with the desire to laugh at his gall and audacity, whilst also fighting back tears, as she hurried down the corridor and out into the sunshine beyond.

Amused at his antics and at the same time, filled with despair, because it was a miracle that he was even still alive, and he was so beautiful, and it was so damned unfair that she could not love him ….

_**Oh God, why can't I hate him? **_

_**It would be so much easier, if I could only hate him ….**_

She knew it now, knew it with absolute certainty, she could no more stop loving Stringfellow Hawke than she could stop the sun rising and falling, and she had been a fool to think that anything she could say or do would change that simple fact.

She didn't care if he could never love her back.

After what she had heard him utter when he had been delirious, it was quite possible that he might never be able to allow himself to love anyone ever again, because the thought that they too might leave him, that they too might die, would be unbearable to him.

Would knowing that she loved him make any difference?

What did it matter?

She had lived this long without his love, but her love for him was the only thing that had sustained her all these years.

She had enough love for the both of them, but she would settle for friendship if that was what he wanted, just so long as she didn't have to shut him out of her life forever ….

She had denied her feelings for too long, but now that the genie was out of the bottle, it simply refused to be put back.

It was a damned good thing that she was going to Nairobi, for if she stayed, she knew that she was in grave danger of making a complete fool of herself.


	4. Chapter 4

_REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

Chapter Four

_**Running away again, Mack?**_

A little voice taunted her as she strode across the courtyard toward the Church, where she had agreed to meet Father Paddy and then they were going to drive out to the airfield and the Dakota.

She had told him that she wanted to leave no later than noon, so that they would be sure of arriving in Kenya before nightfall, and had made arrangements to stay with Father Andrew Kincaid, the jovial and ebullient priest who willingly provided them with accommodation when they needed it at his rectory on the outskirts of Nairobi.

_**Oh yes ….. **_

_**As far and as fast as I can …. **_

_**Because if I stay, I can't be held responsible for what might happen ….**_

However, before she reached the Church she was intercepted by a breathless Sister Clementine, who informed her that Sister Eve had sent her to tell her that there was someone on the radio for her.

Frowning, Mackenzie Jarvis made her way to the main convent building, and the twin administration offices where Father Paddy and Sister Eve dealt with Church business and kept their own private church files and staff personnel records.

The ancient long wave radio was housed in a small side room off Sister Eve's office and as Mackenzie walked past her open door, the Sister Superior rose from her desk and hurriedly came to greet her.

"It's Burt Davis," she informed the younger woman, wearing a perplexed expression and watched irritation cross Mackenzie Jarvis' face now.

_**Great, I'm just in the mood for him ….**_ Mackenzie thought sourly, wondering what he couldn't find this time, and what excuse he would come up with.

It was most unusual for the shipping agent to contact her at the Mission, even when he was having difficulty in obtaining any of the things she had requested that he supply, and Mackenzie Jarvis wondered why he suddenly felt the need to speak to her now, after all, she had only spoken to him the previous evening to give him the final list, and she and Father Paddy would have been seeing him at the warehouse first thing tomorrow morning, ready to inventory their supplies and load them on to the Dakota.

"Zarundi calling Nairobi, Mr Davis, are you there?" Mackenzie Jarvis spoke into the handset, trying not to allow her irritation to make its self evident until she knew why he was calling.

After all, she told herself, he might be ill and wanted to save her a wasted trip.

"Dr Jarvis?"

"Yes, Mr Davis …."

"Thank God you haven't left yet …." He cut in to speak over her now, his tone anxious and breathless over the hiss and crackle of the ancient radio. "Look doc, if I were you, I'd stay put. It's pandemonium here at the moment …."

"Mr Davis, that is quite out of the question. We really are running low on everything. I've already put off this trip for as long as I can …." She protested. "Please tell me you managed to get most everything?"

"Oh I got it, alright, doc, but it's not going anywhere yet."

"Mr Davis …."

"After what happened on Sunday, they've locked the whole place down. Nothing's moving, and believe me, it's crippling my business …."

"Explain yourself Mr Davis …. What happened on Sunday?"

"You mean you haven't heard?" His tone was incredulous now.

"Heard what, Mr Davis?" Frowning, Mackenzie gave a deep sigh of impatience now.

"Kembala, doc, it all went a bit, well, a bit pear shaped if you catch my meaning …."

"I don't, Mr Davis …." She rolled her eyes heavenward in exasperation, and then she stopped herself as she registered the word Kembala.

"Why don't you just tell me what has happened. You know we're a bit cut off from the rest of the world here."

"There was some kind of uprising in Kembala, early hours of Sunday morning. Some kind of rebellion and they're saying that Robert Nimbani was killed. It seems, according to General Mendofa, who we all know can't lie straight in bed …."

He paused to drag in a breath before continuing.

"The US got involved in trying to oust him and his forces and replace him with Mr Nimbani. In the shoot out, Nimbani, and according to Mendofa, half the US Army and all the KPLA got wiped out …." Burt Davis explained excitedly, and Mackenzie Jarvis felt her heart lurch in her chest. "Of course, I don't believe the half of it, at least not the US Army bit …." He added ruefully.

"Yes, indeed …." Mackenzie Jarvis shared an anxious look with Sister Eve.

Kembala was not all that far away, and if there was trouble there, and King Joami felt the need to seek revenge for the murder of his distant cousin, Kembala's troubles could suddenly become Zarundi's troubles too, and then life here would become a completely different ball game.

"Stay put doc, I'm tellin' ya, this place is going nuts. Everyone's up in arms or scared witless that someone is going to retaliate. The airport was closed for a while yesterday, some panic merchant swearing blind he saw a ruddy nuclear missile …. I mean, I ask you …. Most folks round here wouldn't know an ICBM from the ruddy space shuttle!" He gave a wheezing little laugh at his joke before continuing.

"Rumour has it that if things do kick off, no-body will be getting in or out of Nairobi until the dust settles, and of course, everyone's just waiting to see what the Ruskies are going to do …. What can I tell ya? It's a zoo …." He concluded over the whine and whistle and crackle of the airwaves.

"Yes, quite …. Thank you for your concern, Mr Davis." Mackenzie Jarvis sighed softly, supposing that she should be grateful for the warning at least.

"Keep safe, doc. You're way out in the wilderness there, but things could get a little hairy …."

"We'll bear that in mind. In the mean time, if we can't come to you, any chance you could get someone to at least drop us a few essentials?" She asked, more in hope than in expectation.

"Not a chance, doc. Sorry. I'll call you when things have settled down again, Dr Jarvis. In the mean time …"

There was suddenly a burst of deafening static from the ancient overheating radio and when it had passed, Burt Davis had gone.

"Drat," Mackenzie Jarvis let out a deep sigh, and then turned to look at Sister Eve, and could see that she too was thinking exactly the same dark, uncomfortable thoughts.

Hawke and his monstrous flying death machine had come out of the east on Sunday ….

Out of the sun, from the direction of Kembala ….

"I'm sure Mr Hawke had nothing to do …."

"And I'm equally sure he's involved in it up to his pretty, innocent blue eyes, Sister," Mackenzie Jarvis sighed heavily.

_**She'd wanted to get good and mad with him …. Well now she had the perfect excuse ….**_

Father Paddy's anxious words of only two days before rang loudly in her ears ….

"_**Dear God, who are these people, and what the devil have they gotten us involved in!"**_

_**Yes, indeed, Father …. What have they gotten us involved in ….**_

"Mack …."

"I hardly think it's a coincidence that they came in from that direction in the middle of Sunday services, and they didn't accidentally shoot each other with an elephant gun …." She muttered irritably.

_**Oh God, were Hawke and Santini mercenaries? Hired guns? Cold blooded killers ….**_

"Oh I'm not talking about what Burt Davis just told us," she turned to Sister Eve now, forcing the uncomfortable thoughts from her mind and willing her heart to slow its rapid pounding in her ears.

"I never take anything he says too seriously, he tends to embellish and exaggerate, but there must be a grain of truth in it, for him to get on the radio and warn us to stay away like that," she explained in anxious tones, and now there was no mistaking the suspicion and anger in her dark green eyes.

"And I need to get to the bottom of it. We need to know just which side Hawke and Santini are on, because if we are harbouring criminals Sister, if his being here puts all of us in danger …. it won't just be Hawke's shoulder he'll be worried about!"

Mackenzie replaced the handset on its cradle and absently ran her hand over her face before drawing in a deep breath.

"In the mean time, we're running low on practically everything. We'd better go over the list later and see what we can ration until it's safe to make the trip to Nairobi."

"We'll manage. It might only be a few days delay," Sister Eve reasoned. "You don't really think Mr Hawke had anything to do with Mr Nimbani being killed, do you?"

"If he did, and King Joami finds out, I don't fancy his chances, do you?"

She had told Father Paddy that whatever reasons Hawke and Santini had for being here, they were for the greater good, but now Mackenzie Jarvis wasn't quite so sure.

She had also believed that there could be no evil in Stringfellow Hawke's heart, but she had been thinking of the boy that she remembered, not the man that he had become in the years in-between.

It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that the years of war and the loss of his brother had changed him, and not for the better.

And then there was the other man that had been with them, the dead black African.

_**Who was he, and what were they doing with him?**_

The man had been emaciated, wracked with fever and sporting the telltale traits of torture and malnutrition, and Mackenzie Jarvis knew from the results of her autopsy on the African male, that his last few days on this earth had been far from pleasant and pain free.

What did that have to do with Stringfellow Hawke and Dominic Santini?

_**Let's face it, that black and white monstrosity isn't exactly a Medevac helicopter ….**_

A vindictive little voice nagged away at the back of her mind.

It was a killing machine, built for no good purpose, as Father Paddy had pointed out ….

A hovering, swooping harbinger of death and destruction ….

_**Oh God, Hawke, what have you done? What have you done?**_

"Mack …." Sister Eve's soft voice brought her attention back to the present, and she turned to look at Eve, noting fear and anxiety in her usually calm and placid brown eyes.

"First things first, Sister. Where's that transistor radio? Let's see if we can find some more reliable information on what is really happening in Kembala. It's not that I don't trust Mr Davis, but I'd rather hear it from a more objective source. I think we should just be able to pick up one of the news radio stations in Johannesburg, or even the BBC World Service, and they might have more substantiated details."

"I'm not sure where I put it …."

A working radio was a luxury out here, because batteries were so hard to obtain and were costly, and it was also too much of a reminder of the life that most of the sisters had put behind them when they had entered the order, but Sister Eve had relented and invested in a small transistor radio so that the community could at least listen to the Pope's speech from St Peter's Square in Rome at Christmas and Easter.

Sister Eve returned to her office and turned out the drawers in her desk, and then the drawers in the filing cabinet, and finally found the grubby looking old fashioned white plastic transistor radio in a cupboard underneath her overloaded book case.

"I don't know if the batteries will work …." She handed the radio over to Mackenzie Jarvis who shook it gently to make sure that the batteries were indeed installed then twiddled with the wheel like controls on the side of the casing, tuning it in and adjusting the volume. "I haven't had need to try it since Easter …."

"_**We're caught in a trap, I can't walk out, because I love you too much baby …."**_

Elvis Presley's deep, velvet voice suddenly erupted from the radio, but Mackenzie Jarvis ruthlessly shut him off, turning the wheel again to home in on another station, knowing that she couldn't possibly cope with yet another heart rending reminder of that night so long ago, but couldn't help feeling the bitter irony, as she recognised the lyrics as belonging to the song Suspicious Minds ….

_**Ain't that the truth!**_

"What time is it, Sister?" the doctor asked, moving the transistor around in her hand trying to get a better signal as it hissed and whined and crackled.

"Almost eleven o'clock."

"Ah, good, they generally have a news update every hour …."

"_**This is the news from the BBC World Service with …."**_ A male voice intoned as the announcer introduced himself and reeled off a list of the day's main headlines, at the top of which was the developing situation in Kembala.

Sister Eve and Mackenzie Jarvis listened in silence as the newsreader recapped on the events of Sunday, and then cut to live reports coming out of the Kembaleze capitol on the current situation, including a rather smug and self satisfied diatribe from General Joshua Mendofa himself, pointing out the justification of his regime's austere and ruthless rule, and then concluded with reports for calls calm from several notable African leaders.

What she heard didn't make Mackenzie Jarvis feel any easier, only more determined to get to the bottom of things, and find out exactly what Stringfellow Hawke's part had been in the whole sorry mess.

"C'mon Sister, we need to let Father Paddy know what's happening, and then maybe we should decide what to do next …."

"What on earth …." Father Paddy mumbled under his breath as he recoiled in surprise and confusion at finding Sister Eve and Dr Mackenzie Jarvis suddenly appearing, breathless, flushed and obviously flustered, in the school room doorway.

He was in the process of ending his lesson with the four children from the village who had shown up this morning, curious to see if the fire breathing monster was still flying over the Mission no doubt, the subject today, the Old Testament story of Samson and the lion, and the priest was just bringing the lesson to an end, knowing that he was due to meet with Mackenzie Jarvis shortly, so that they could drive out to the air strip, and then begin their journey to Nairobi.

The fact that the doctor had come to him here in the school room instead of waiting for him in the Church as planned, and that Sister Eve was with her, and the anxious looks on both woman's flushed faces, alerted him to the fact that something was amiss.

They waited somewhat impatiently for him to conclude the lesson and dismiss the children who scampered away, as fast as their young legs would carry them, with huge grins on their faces, pleasantly surprised to be free of lessons for the remainder of the day and then waited for him to come and join them.

"I'll be with you shortly, doctor," he told her a little breathlessly, irritated at being rushed. They had agreed a time, and, as far as he was aware, he wasn't running late. "I have some papers to collect from my office, and my bag …."

His voice suddenly trailed away as he finally allowed himself a proper look at Sister Eve and Mackenzie Jarvis. The Sister Superior's usually gentle brown eyes were filled with fear and anxiety, and from the look on her face, Mackenzie Jarvis was about to blow a gasket.

He had never seen such outrage on her face before.

"We won't be going to Nairobi today, Father," she told him in a tight voice, obviously fighting to maintain her composure, and he fleetingly wondered if this had something to do with the young man in the Infirmary.

"There has been a worrying development, in Kembala …."Sister Eve interjected and taking Father Paddy's arm began to lead him across the courtyard back toward her office. "Wait until we get inside and then Mack will explain …." She added, casting furtive glances around her, obviously not wanting to attract too much attention from the other Sisters.

"Alright ladies, out with it," Father Paddy sighed heavily as he settled himself in the large wingback tan leather chair in the corner of Sister Eve's pleasant office, trying to cover his amusement at the two ladies unusual behaviour. "What's with all the cloak and dagger stuff?"

"There has been some kind of rebellion in Kembala," Mackenzie Jarvis drew in a deep breath and tried to put a lid on her anger.

She knew that she was jumping to conclusions, but somehow, it all seemed to fit.

Hawke's turning up out of the blue like that, from the direction of Kembala, and his and Dominic Santini's wounds, which could not readily be explained away as a simple hunting accident ….

She didn't want to think the worst, but she simply couldn't get away from the facts.

She drew in another deep breath and then forced herself to calmly explain to Father Paddy what Burt Davis had told her over the radio, and what she and Sister Eve had learned from the news reports on the BBC.

"Robert Nimbani dead?" From his shocked expression it was easy to see that he fully understood the significance of that fact, and what it could mean to all of them here in Zarundi.

"Barbarians!" he seethed, and now, Mackenzie Jarvis could see the same look in his eyes as she had seen on Sunday, when he had first seen that magnificent helicopter and she had realised that his mind had been filled with notions of all the wickedness that men were capable of suddenly being visited upon them.

"Someone will have to tell Joami …." He sighed deeply and it was easy to see that he did not relish the idea that it would have to be him.

"Yes, but that's not our main concern right now," Sister Eve pointed out. "We need to find out what, if any involvement Mr Hawke and Mr Santini had in the business over the border," she explained and watched the pained expression on Mackenzie Jarvis' face, as the younger woman tried to reconcile herself with what she knew about the boy that Stringfellow Hawke had been, and the man that he had become, and if he was capable of all the cruel and wicked things that were running riot through her mind.

_**Was it possible?**_

She didn't want to believe it, and was desperately clinging to the hope that as he had had Dominic Santini with him, the calm, reasonable and essentially decent and just man that he was, Hawke's involvement in whatever had transpired in the east had an innocent and reasonable explanation.

"Then let's go ask him," Father Paddy's tone grew harsh now, and his face was set in a cold, hard mask.

"We can't all just go marching in there …." Mackenzie Jarvis found herself protesting now, after all he was still her patient, and she had his health and welfare to consider.

"So what do you suggest?" The elderly priest glowered at her now.

"You and I go in there and ask him a couple of simple questions …." Mackenzie caught her bottom lip between her teeth now and chewed as she tried to organise her thoughts.

"Father, now that we aren't going to Nairobi this afternoon, what do you think are the chances of having a little funeral service for the gentleman in the mortuary?"

"I should think it could be arranged …. It's high time we thought of laying him to rest, don't you think?" Father Paddy could see the devilish twinkle in Mackenzie Jarvis' eyes now and thought he understood what she had in mind. "I find that these occasions are usually more civilised if the deceased has a name. We'll need it for the coffin and grave marker too …."

"My thoughts exactly …."

"Then what are we waiting for?"


	5. Chapter 5

_REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

Chapter Five

Stringfellow Hawke was dozing, drifting in and out of a pleasant haze, courtesy no doubt of the sedative he had been given earlier to keep him quiet and still.

The drug had the effect of making him feel calm and mellow and relaxed, not really sleepy or dulling his wits and his ability to think, but as there was little else to do except count the cracks in the ceiling overhead, which he had done half a dozen times already, and watch the dizzying and hypnotising effect of the ceiling fan as it span slowly and moved cool air around the room, he didn't see any reason why he shouldn't close his eyes and let his mind go blank.

If it meant that he got his strength back more quickly, why not?

_**Who was he kidding?**_

What it really meant was that it gave him a chance to think about Mackenzie Jarvis.

Well it was better than trying to make sense of what had happened back there in Kembala ….

Infinitely better than replaying over and over in his mind the terrifying moment when he had witnessed Dominic getting shot ….

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the memory, and conjured up another much more appealing image in his mind's eye.

Mackenzie Jarvis.

He still couldn't believe that she was real.

_**Of all the gin joints, in all the world ….**_

This thought brought a soft smile to his lips.

_**You said it, Bogie ….**_

So, she was a doctor now.

Well that at least answered one burning question in his mind. What had she been doing with herself all this time?

He told himself that he shouldn't be surprised.

She had been a smart kid, and there was no doubt that she had the genuine compassionate and caring nature that suited that profession.

But why here?

Why Africa?

_**Obviously …. **_

A little voice nagged at him, sneering and smug ….

_**Because, although she couldn't do anything about being on the same planet, she couldn't face being on the same continent as you!**_

_**Shut up!**_

Yet, he could not deny the clenched fist of guilt suddenly clawing at his guts.

Had he really scared her so badly she had run away to the other side of the world to avoid him?

_**Don't be ridiculous ….**_

_**It was just a kiss, Hawke, just a kiss, and it was fifteen lousy years ago! **_

_**Why are you still so hung up on it?**_

_**Quit dwelling on it and move on. It isn't like you've never been kissed since ….**_

_**Oh sure, but not like that ….**_

_**Never like that ….**_

He closed his eyes tight and drew in a long deep breath.

_**Get over it, kid, your thirty four, not nineteen ….**_

_**And so is Mack.**_

_**Lot of water gone under that bridge ….**_

And now he had something else to thank her for, for he didn't doubt that the care she and the nursing sisters here had given to him had made all the difference to his chances of survival.

Dom's too.

_**Good ole Mack to the rescue again ….**_

_**Yeah, of all the gin joints in all the world, thank God he had found his way into hers.**_

It remained to be seen if she was as thrilled about it as he was.

He recalled the way she had looked at him earlier, her brusque manner and cool tone of voice and wondered what that was all about.

Recalled thinking that she was a complete contradiction.

He could have sworn that her eyes were telling him of her pleasure at seeing him again, her relief that he had survived the fever, and that she remembered that night on the beach fifteen years ago as clearly as he did, that it had been as significant to her as it had been to him ….

But her manner and tone of voice had told him that she couldn't wait for him to be well so that she could be rid of him.

_**Women!**_

_**Go figure.**_

He wished that he had spent more time in getting to know her a little better all those years ago, then he might be able to untangle his first impressions of her now, and decide if she really was angry with him, or if she was hiding behind a façade of professional detachment.

He couldn't get past the idea that it didn't _**feel**_ right.

Most of the doctors he had ever had to have dealings with thought they were superior and acted like it, but he would never have pegged Mackenzie Jarvis as the type.

And the instinct that he had trusted in all his life, the one that helped him to judge what kind of people he was dealing with, the one that had helped him to trust or distrust people of questionable morals, people he often had no choice but to trust his life to when he had to work with them, when it was in their best interests to try to deceive him and win his trust, was telling him that something about that little performance earlier was way off.

Of course, he could be wrong, after all it had been fifteen years, and he wasn't exactly compass mentis, with all the drugs that he had floating around in his system.

Maybe he was the one that was off the mark.

Suddenly there was a loud, rough coughing sound from the other side of the room, and Hawke's eyes flew open at the abruptness of the noise in the otherwise silent room.

"Mr Hawke, mind if we come in?"

Stringfellow Hawke twisted his head carefully around on his pillow and found himself looking into the stern features of an elderly man clad in a black cassock and stiff white dog collar, regarding him with a solemn expression, and behind him, framed in the doorway was Mackenzie Jarvis, whom it now seemed was having trouble looking him in the eye.

_**What gives?**_

"This is Father Patrick Callaghan, Mr Hawke," Mackenzie Jarvis spoke at last, in a soft voice completely devoid of any kind of emotion, and Hawke let out a soft sigh of resignation.

_**No change there then ….**_

"Father," he politely acknowledged the elderly cleric as the man walked deeper into the room and came to stand beside the bed.

"Father Paddy," the priest offered him his hand now in a firm, brief handshake. "I'm pleased to see you looking so much better, Mr Hawke," the man addressed him in a gentle, reasonable tone of voice, and had Hawke noted, a pleasant Irish lilt. "We don't want to disturb your rest, but we have a favour to ask …."

"Shoot," Hawke invited, then frowned at the groggy, thick sound that came from his mouth.

"I'm sorry to trouble you with this, but you see, the other man in your party, the deceased gentlemen …." Hawke nodded in comprehension as he tried to sit up a little more in the bed.

He was sorry that he hadn't given more thought to what had happened to Robert Nimbani's body, but his thoughts had been focused on the living, namely himself and Dominic Santini.

Now he was glad that the situation had apparently been taken care of.

"We are going to have to do something about …. Disposing of his remains …." Father Paddy continued, obviously trying not to be indelicate. "And I'm sure you can understand the necessity. We don't have the facilities to store his body, and well, we have no idea who he is, or where he came from, so we can't make arrangements for the family to come and claim him."

Again Hawke nodded, shifting his gaze to regard Mackenzie Jarvis, wondering why exactly she was here, then told himself that it was in her best interests, as his doctor, to make sure that he didn't get over excited, and rip open his shoulder wound.

"Can you tell us a little about the fellow? It's such a pity that he has to end his time here with strangers. I'd like to make the service as dignified as I can, so calling him by name would be a good start, and then maybe saying a few nice words …."

"Robert Nimbani," Hawke said the name on a huge, shoulder raising sigh, and then winced as he felt the pain radiating out from his shoulder. "His name was Robert Nimbani, and that's pretty much all I know …."

His voice trailed away as squinting fresh tears of pain from his eyes, Hawke suddenly became aware of the strange looks on both Mackenzie Jarvis' and Father Callaghan's faces.

_**Now what did I say?**_ He thought sourly.

"That's not Robert Nimbani …." The doctor and the priest said in unison then stared at each other in confusion.

"Father? Did I miss something?" Mackenzie was the first to speak, needing confirmation from the elderly priest that she had not overlooked something as basic as being able to identify the body, when she had conducted her post mortem.

She had been tired and over wrought, but she knew that there was no chance that she would have failed to recognise the man on her autopsy table.

"No child, you didn't make a mistake. I was with the Sisters when they laid him out," Father Paddy confirmed for her. "It's not Robert Nimbani."

"What did you say?" Stringfellow Hawke demanded now, looking from the doctor to the priest and back again in astonishment.

"The deceased fellow is _**not**_ Robert Nimbani, Mr Hawke. Dr Jarvis and I are both acquainted with that particular gentleman, and we can assure you, Mr Hawke, the man you brought in with you is not he."

"You're sure?" Hawke pressed again, clearly confused as he again looked from the doctor to the priest.

"Mr Nimbani is a distant cousin of the king of our local tribe, Mr Hawke. He has visited the Mission on several occasions, to obtain medication from Dr Jarvis here …." Father Paddy explained patiently. "I can assure you, the fellow in the mortuary is not the man who was running for Presidency in Kembala until a few months ago …."

"Then who the hell is he?" Hawke demanded gruffly.

_**Who the hell did I almost wind up getting myself killed over?**_

_**And how in the hell did I wind up rescuing the wrong guy!**_

"What made you think it was Mr Nimbani?" Father Paddy asked now, ignoring Hawke's outburst.

"And what do you know of Kembala?" Mackenzie Jarvis asked in a voice made cold by suspicion and distrust now.

"Take your time, Mr Hawke," Father Paddy invited in gentler tones, noting the look of confusion in the younger man's blue eyes, confusion and something else that he couldn't quite put a name to. "Now then, tell us why it is you think that poor fella was Mr Nimbani?"

"Because Dom and I were sent there to help rescue him from General Mendofa …."

Hawke gave another deep ragged sigh, this time mindful of his shoulder wound, and sank back heavily against his pillows.

So he had been right.

They _**had **_been betrayed.

_**No, not betrayed.**_

_**Duped.**_

_**Conned ….**_

_**Shafted ….**_

_**And big time!**_

"Go on, Mr Hawke," Father Paddy encouraged, and now Mackenzie Jarvis came further into the room, walking to stand in front of the shaded window in front of him, keeping her ramrod straight back turned to him so that he had no idea what she thinking or feeling, as he slowly began to explain his and Dominic Santini's mission into Kembala.

"I see …. Well, thank you, Mr Hawke …." Father Paddy regarded him somewhat sympathetically when Hawke finished, imparting only what he felt was absolutely necessary, all the time trying to work out what his next move should be.

But it was obvious.

He had to get to Airwolf and get on the horn to Archangel, let him know that they had all been taken for a monumental ride, and then find out what he should do about it.

He wished he knew what Mackenzie Jarvis was thinking, but she had still not turned around to face him, although she seemed to have relaxed, just a little, her back not quite so rigid.

So maybe she wasn't quite so mad at him ….

Maybe now she wasn't quite so ready to believe that he was a traitor and a murderer ….

"Don't take it too much to heart, Mr Hawke. You aren't the only one's General Mendofa has fooled. He's got the whole world believing that Robert Nimbani is dead, and that America was behind the coup that tried to replace him," Father Paddy reached out now and patted Hawke's hand gently in reassurance.

"Our friend in the mortuary still needs a Christian burial, so if it's all the same to you, I'd better get started on making the arrangements …."

And with that the elderly priest turned and walked away from Hawke.

Mackenzie Jarvis turned away from the window at that moment and also began to walk back across the room, and Hawke found himself wishing that he could see the expression on her face, but she had her head bowed slightly, deliberately avoiding having to look directly at him, and the bright mid morning sun streaming in through the gaps in the blind was surrounding her in a heavenly golden aura, making him squint.

"Mack?"

"I'll be right back …." She answered in a soft, breathy voice, still not looking at him as she followed the priest out of his room.

"Father …."

Outside in the corridor, Mackenzie Jarvis reached out to the elderly priest and caught him by the elbow and when he turned back to face her he was shocked to see tears streaming down her pale cheeks, however, she straightened herself up and drew in a ragged breath as she wrestled with her emotions and tried to regain her composure.

"Someone still needs to go see King Joami …." Her voice was thick and stuck somewhere in the back of her throat, and for just an instant, Father Paddy felt sympathy for her.

It had been a tough few days, so many powerful and unfamiliar emotions for her to have to deal with, and he knew that it could not have been easy for her, then on top of all that, to have to face the possibility that the young man she obviously cared so deeply for could be a wrong 'un.

The tears he could see streaming down her face were obviously ones of relief, to discover that what she had always believed about him was indeed the truth.

He was a good man.

A hero.

Someone his country could call upon in times of need to do their dirty work for them ….

His own impressions of the young man were that he was honourable and truthful and forthright ….

And if the long hungry, adoring looks he had been aiming in Mackenzie Jarvis' direction were any indication, he still had strong feelings of his own for the young woman.

Sometimes, Father Paddy found himself thinking, men in the throws of delirium, stripped of their rigid self control and inhibitions, did indeed speak the truth.

He was glad.

Mackenzie Jarvis deserved to know what it meant to be truly loved, and it seemed that Stringfellow Hawke was the man for the job after all.

_**Heaven help them all!**_

So, Mackenzie was human after all, but it had certainly been the hard way to find out the truth about her self.

Yet, despite that he found himself rejoicing that she had finally learned that lesson, and that she was no longer hiding her feelings.

_**Now all she had to do was admit that she loved the young fella, and then tell him so, and then maybe things could get back to normal around here!**_

It crossed his mind to say something, to offer some small piece of advice, to remind her that she didn't always have to be alone, that there was room in her life for something other than medicine, and that the love of a man for a woman, and a woman for man was Holy too, for how else would their species prevail, and perpetuate, then thought better of it, as she grew embarrassed by the unusual show of emotion and drew in a deep shoulder raising sigh as she raised her hand to quickly dash away her tears.

"We need to know if Robert Nimbani is really still alive, and Joami is probably the only one who might know for sure …."

Father Paddy nodded in silent understanding.

"I'll go myself, child," he assured her gently now and gave her a soft smile. "I've been looking for an excuse to offer the old devil my congratulations and take a look at the newest additions to his little family, and I don't think it will hurt to keep our friend on ice, just a little longer …."

And with that he turned and began to walk down the hallway, leaving Mackenzie Jarvis alone with her thoughts, and found him self praying that somehow these two young people would find a satisfactory resolution to their dilemma, before those closest to them decided to take matters in to their own hands, and shoot the pair of them!

"I'm sorry we had to put you through that,"

Having finally gotten her emotions back under control, and hopefully concealed the fact that she had been weeping, Mackenzie Jarvis stepped into the doorway of Stringfellow Hawke's room and offered him a small, apologetic smile, although she did not make any effort to step inside.

"You had to know for sure if you could trust me," Hawke sighed deeply, knowing that his first impression, his suspicion that she had jumped to the conclusion that he was an all round bad lot was the right one.

_**What else was she meant to think? **_

The little voice was back.

_**You drop out of the sky, riddled with bullet holes with a dead body in the trunk …. What is she supposed to think, that you got lost on your way home from the junior prom?**_

Suddenly Stringfellow Hawke had to fight the desire to smile.

It was the drugs, he told himself, but he knew that he was kidding himself.

She still looked so damned adorable, standing there watching him with dark eyes filled with distrust and confusion, still not really sure if she should trust him.

Several emotions warring with each other as they crossed her lovely face, clouding her big, luminous green eyes.

Gathering his errant thoughts together, he schooled his features into a solemn expression, hoping to convey to her that he was both hurt and disappointed that she had such a low opinion of him.

It obviously worked because she dragged her gaze away from him and finally stepped deeper inside his room.

"I have a great deal of responsibility here, Stringfellow, a great many lives to consider, and they all mean a lot to me," she explained in a stiff little voice, her eyes fixed on an ancient stain on the floor. "We are very vulnerable here," she added, then paused to finally look up at him at last, dragging in a very shaky breath, he could not help noticing.

"I didn't know you very well all those years ago, and I know even less about you today …." She confessed, holding his gaze now, scrutinizing his face and noted with relief the look of acceptance, and acknowledgement in his eyes that she was speaking truthfully.

"I only had the evidence of my eyes to go on, Stringfellow. That behemoth you were flying .… And let's face it, those wounds of yours and Mr Santini's, they're hardly love taps, are they …."

Her voice trailed away and she let out a ragged breath, eyes drinking in his handsome face, storing away memories that would have to keep her company, keep her warm on the long, cold, lonely nights ahead, when he would be gone again, forever ….

"It's good to see you, Mack," Hawke said at last, breaking the silence that hung uncomfortably between them, keeping his tone soft. "I should thank you for patching me up."

"You're welcome," she almost smiled, almost, but then caught herself and her expression grew cold once more. "What happens now?"

"I think you know, Mack," he let out a soft sigh. "I know what you said about risking bleeding to death, and yes, I know you're right, but I can't just lie here, not now," he told her bluntly.

"I still have work to do, and frankly, I don't care if you have to truss me up like a Thanks Giving turkey, I've got to get out of here. I've got to get to my aircraft and call my people. They need to know exactly what's happened …."

"Of course they do," Mackenzie Jarvis responded softly and Hawke found himself staring at her with his mouth hanging open.

"What, no argument?" he arched an eyebrow sardonically now, for he had expected more of her physician's bluster about following her orders and lying still in bed.

_**Maybe there was something of thaw going on there too ….**_ He mused silently.

"Do you want my help or not, Mr Hawke?" Her tone grew haughty again and he knew that he had blown it.

He also began to suspect that she was way ahead of him.

"At this moment, Mack, I'm as weak as a kitten, and probably more than a little high, so you might just have to spell it out for me. How can you help me, aside from making sure I don't bleed all over you?"

"Mr Nimbani?"

"What of him?"

"Well it occurred to me that King Joami might just know of his present whereabouts. I could find out for you, and maybe, if we ask him nicely enough, Mr Nimbani might be prepared to help you complete your mission, and go with you back to the UN."

And now the smile that formed on her lips was more genuine.

And there it was, that electric thrill that started somewhere close to his solar plexus and flooded through his body, the sensation akin to being zapped with a thousand volts of electricity, robbing him of breath and making him feel giddy as his heart fluttered in his chest.

It was a glorious sight, his reaction to which both shocked him and delighted him, whilst also offering him the slimmest hint of hope, as his heart skipped another beat in his chest.

_**Clever girl.**_

And suddenly they were both grinning at each other, the tension between them finally dispelled.

"Robert Nimbani is still the best hope for the people of Kembala, and we just can't let Joshua Mendofa get away with this incredible hoax, this ridiculous publicity stunt …." She concluded and Stringfellow Hawke found himself thinking that she was incredibly intelligent, quick witted, smart and beautiful and he wanted to jump out of this wretched bed and kiss the breath out of her ….

Instead he just smiled back at her and let out a soft sigh of relief.

Now there was only one question burning in his mind.

"Mack …."

"Yes, Stringfellow?"

_**Ah yes, a definite improvement upon Mr Hawke**_ ….

_**Now all he had to do was get her to call him String …. **_He found himself thinking with a much lighter heart as he fought to smother a smile.

"What exactly did you do with my …. behemoth?"


	6. Chapter 6

_REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

Chapter Six

"Stringfellow, take your time, please, there's no rush. It's not like the damned thing's going anywhere …." Mackenzie Jarvis implored as she regarded Stringfellow Hawke with big, anxious dark green eyes.

"You're as stubborn as a mule and have the hide of rhino, but if you don't slow down …."

After she had told him exactly what she had done with his precious helicopter, and when he had done staring at her with open mouthed astonishment, the next question out of his mouth had been to ask what they had done with his clothes.

He hadn't liked that answer much either, Mackenzie found herself thinking with a wry smile, if the dark, brooding scowls he had thrown in her direction as she had found out surgical greens for him to slip on and then offered to give him a hand to get into them, were anything to go by.

It was that or one of Father Paddy's cassocks, she had told him without preamble, so he had had to make do with the thin dark green linen pants, which were very tight and snug in certain areas, she couldn't help but notice with a hungry and appreciative look, that he couldn't fail to notice, as he muttered something dark about listening to what his mother had told him about wearing underwear, and one of her father's old bathrobes, which she had suddenly remembered was hanging in the back of her closet.

By the time he had wrestled himself into the pants he was drenched in perspiration and looking very unsteady and green around the gills, and silently, Mackenzie Jarvis had found herself questioning the sanity in allowing him to leave his hospital bed, as she adhered to his insistence that she detach the bag of IV fluids from the cannula in his arm so that he didn't have to drag it around after him.

However, she was relieved to find his wound still in tact when she had used several rolls of bandages to secure his left arm to his torso, by winding them around his beautifully tan and muscular chest, because a simple sling would not have given him enough support, and then, looking for all the world like a half dressed mummy, she had helped him to drape her father's robe around his shoulders and secured it around his waist with the tie belt.

She had left him alone, catching his breath, while she went to fetch a wheelchair, but when she returned with the conveyance, he made it absolutely clear that it was unnecessary, and to top it all, just to prove to her that he was indeed the world's most 'ornery and mule headed idiot, he had insisted on walking out to the barn, stating that it was his arm that was injured and he had two perfectly good legs.

Now, they found themselves about a hundred feet from the barn door, with Stringfellow Hawke gasping for breath like a forty a day smoker as he hung on to the fence rail of the goat pen, face white and dripping with sweat as Mackenzie Jarvis hung on to him, her arm slung around his waist, supporting most of his weight.

"I've wasted enough time already," he gasped out, dragging air into his aching lungs whilst trying to draw her attention away from the fact that his legs were like rubber beneath him.

As the words registered, both looked back at each other, knowing that he wasn't just talking about the hours he had spent unconscious and wracked with fever in his hospital bed.

"I asked Father Paddy to go to the village and see King Joami," Mackenzie Jarvis quickly changed the subject, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

"Thank you," Hawke said drawing in another deep breath and trying to straighten up, ready to take the next step toward the barn door.

"You've got to hand it to General Mendofa, I suppose, the fact that he actually had the audacity to go through with it, and it seems, to have gotten away with it …."

"Not for long."

"You've still got to find Robert Nimbani, and then persuade him that he should go with you to the UN," she reminded gently. "He's a good man, and a wise one. He knew how the land lay, so I'm not surprised he spirited himself out of harms way. It will take some pretty strong arguments to get him to break cover and come with you."

"You said it your self, Mack, he's the best chance the people of Kembala have. He was willing to put himself in the firing line before. I can't see that anything has changed. Mendofa's shown his hand now, so he won't be able to get away with it a second time, and once the other leaders who have presently thrown their lot in with him find out they've been conned …. There won't be a hole big enough for him to hide in anywhere in the world …."

"That still leaves the Russians."

"But they won't have a leg to stand on either, because then the only way they can get their hands on the Uranium ore will be to apply to the legitimate government for the rights to mine the mineral, and I can't see Robert Nimbani agreeing to that, can you?"

"I can't see him agreeing to your lot having them either," she pointed out wryly. "If I know Robert Nimbani, no matter what wealth it might bring to his country, he'll be of the opinion that the stuff is best left in the ground."

"Maybe he's right," Hawke conceded.

"First he's got to get himself elected," she reminded. "What are the chances that the UN will actually step in to help him if he's not the officially elected leader of Kembala?"

"I don't know. My guess is that all they can really do is make sure that any election is free and fair, that people like Joshua Mendofa don't interfere with the democratic process. The agency I work for was pretty sure that if the people of Kembala were allowed to use their voice, Robert Nimbani would have won a landslide victory at the polls."

He saw the gleam of curiosity in her eyes now and knew she was trying to decide what she could ask him about what he did for a living, and then her eyes drifted toward the barn door and he knew she was thinking about the magnificent machine she and Father Paddy had so wisely secreted inside.

"Don't ask," he told her in a soft voice. "Can't tell," he gave her a wry smile now.

"Can't?"

"Well I could, but then I'd have to kill you …." The smile grew broader, but his tone of voice was just cool enough to let her know that he wasn't joking.

"In that case, I really don't want to know."

"And about my helicopter …."

"I know …. If anyone asks, you and it were never here."

"Thanks."

"Look, I'm really not so sure this is such a good idea. Perhaps we should have waited a while, until you're stronger. I mean, what time is it in the US? Will anyone even be there?"

"Oh yeah. They'll be there," he assured, knowing that no matter how long it took, Archangel would not abandon his post until he knew for certain what had happened to Airwolf and her crew. "I'm ok, Mack, just give me another minute …."

"You really are the most obstinate …. Pigheaded …."

"Gee, thanks for the compliment …."

He decided it was time to change the subject now, before she produced a hypodermic syringe from up her sleeve and gave him some more knock out drops.

"Quite a place you've got here," he glanced around him now, taking in the sprawl of buildings that made up the Mission complex, and found him self wondering just how she fitted in here, in the religious community, and suddenly his heart lurched in his chest.

_**My God, she wasn't a nun was she?**_

_**Now wouldn't that just be wonderful? **_

After he'd waited all this time to find her, to tell her how he felt about her and to finally discover if she felt the same way about him too ….

Only to find out that she had gone and taken the veil!

"It's been in my family for a long time," she told him softly, and despite his own sudden feeling of utter relief, he noted the sorrowful expression on her face now. "I was raised here."

"But I thought you were English?"

"I am. My parents were both English, although my Mother's side of the family also has some Scottish blood hence my name. I was born in England. When she learned that she was expecting me, my mother wanted the best medical care she could get, and she wasn't going to get it here, so she went home to her family until I was born and then when I was only a few months old we came here. My father was working as a game warden, playing at being a game warden I should say, because he didn't really need to work …. Of course, the convent and Infirmary weren't here then …. It was just the three of us, in the main house, and I had the whole of the desert as my playground. It was a wonderful life, Stringfellow, we were so happy …."

Her voice trailed away then and she turned away from him abruptly.

"So where are your folks now?"

"They died when I was nine," her voice cracked then and Hawke cursed himself for his heavy handedness.

"I'm sorry."

"I guess you know what that feels like, to lose your parents so early in life."

"Yeah."

"But you at least had St John …. Did you ever find him?"

"No," Now it was his turn to let out a ragged breath. "He's still MIA."

"I'm sorry," she turned back to face him now and he could see the tears glistening in her eyes.

"Mack?"

"I'm alright, Stringfellow. It was a long time ago. I'm happy to be here. I feel close to them. I have some happy memories, and some not so happy ones …."

He felt the same way about the cabin up there at Eagle Lake, where he had spent many a happy hour with his parents and brother, and now that they were gone, it soothed him to be there, close to all the things that were familiar and that they had loved.

The time he spent there was often bitter-sweet, and he sensed that it was the same for Mackenzie when she was here.

"What happened?" He asked gently, sensing that she needed to talk about it.

"We were out on the veldt, my father had some grand idea about opening up the house to a few select guests, his rich and influential friends, and showing them the 'big game' around here. Safaris were just getting popular, out in places like Kenya, the Serengeti and Masai Mara, places like that, but my father never intended for his guests to be hunters, just to watch the animals in their natural habitat." She explained slowly.

"We were out in the jeep, having a wonderful day, plotting out trails for safaris, when suddenly out of nowhere we were charged by elephants. We didn't know it then, but there was a brush fire twenty miles away and the animals were all on the hoof. When they are running from fire, filled with panic and fear, they don't care how far they run, or what or who gets in their way, they just stampede. Unfortunately, in trying to out run the elephants, my father lost control of the jeep and it overturned and crashed. I was lucky, I got thrown clear, but my parents were still inside when it burst into flames …."

Her voice was lost on a gulping sob now and Stringfellow Hawke watched with an ache in his heart as she valiantly tried to fight back tears.

"It was a horrible way to die, and all I could do was watch. When I was thrown clear of the jeep, I must have hit my head, blacked out, because when I came too, the jeep was well alight, the gas tank had blown," She explained on a whisper.

"I sat there for hours before anyone showed up, by which time I was so shocked and traumatised, I couldn't speak. Some of Joami's men found me, a hunting party, and they took me back to the village and took care of me until my Uncle showed up. Joami, he's the King of the Keoma tribe here, had sent word of what happened out via the other branches of the tribe and it eventually reached other white settlers over the border."

She paused for a moment then and Hawke watched her draw in a deep, calming breath.

"I was so shocked, I didn't speak for almost six months, by which time, my whole life had been mapped out for me."

"You lived with your Uncle?"

"No. He was a Catholic priest, a Cardinal now. I was placed in the care of the Church, Hawke, raised and educated by nuns …."

She could see understanding beginning to dawn in his lovely blue eyes now, and decided that she had said enough for now.

He was a smart guy.

Let him work it out for himself.

"C'mon, I think I've got my second wind now …." Hawke said softly after a lengthy silence, during which Mackenzie Jarvis had turned her gaze away from him and stared, unseeing, out across the complex toward the desert beyond, lost in her memories and he had had to fight the desire to wrap his arms around her and hold her close.

It made sense now.

The compassion she had shown him all those years ago stemmed from her own personal experience.

She understood his grief, and his need to keep his feelings to himself, understood what bottling his emotions up could do to him, psychologically.

She had reached out to him, goaded him into losing control, because she knew how much heartache and angst it would save him later, for grief not immediately faced was so much worse when you were forced to confront it later on.

It also explained how it was possible that she had never been touched.

He had always wondered how it was possible for two people to create a child and then spend its whole life keeping it at arms length, denying it any kind of warmth or comfort or affection, through the simple act of holding it close.

What kind of people could do that?

If she had been raised in an orphanage, physical contact would have been frowned upon, could be misunderstood as inappropriate, and busy staff had no time for displays of affection. They couldn't be seen to single out any one child, so did not offer affection to any.

No wonder she had had such low self esteem.

He supposed that she had been one of the lucky ones, for he had heard some horror stories from other kids, guys he had met in the army in Vietnam, who had also been raised in orphanages and who talked about all manner of abuses, physical and psychological, that had given him nightmares.

She at least had been spared that.

Oh yes, now he understood completely.

He _**had **_scared her that night, not just because of one sweet, simple stolen kiss, but because of the implications behind it, the possibility that for the first time in her life, instead of being the one to give her love, someone was offering it back to her, and she just didn't know how to react.

She had run away because she simply didn't know how to deal with it.

_**But wasn't running away to the other side of the world a bit excessive? **_

_**A bit of an over reaction?**_

No, there had to be more to it than that.

The answer was simple.

His eyes had not deceived him.

The way she had responded to his kiss was not just some distorted memory, wishful thinking.

It had been real.

It _**had **_meant something to her.

It had rocked her safe, secure little world, and she had run away because she was afraid of something she did not understand, had never experienced and could not believe was real.

_**Oh Mack ….**_

_**Is it possible that you ran away because you were afraid of my love?**_

She had offered him love, and the fact that it had been offered back to her in return was so far out of her realm of experience, it had blown her away.

Deny it all he might, all these years, there was no getting away from the fact that he loved her.

He had fallen in love with her that night, and fallen hard, and he understood now why it was that he had failed miserably in every other relationship that he had had with a woman, because deep down inside, he had known that Mackenzie Jarvis was the one and only woman that he wanted or needed.

Yes he had cared about Gabrielle, had allowed her into his heart, but even so he had known that it wasn't the 'grand passion' of his life.

She was everything that any man could ever want, but, she wasn't Mackenzie Jarvis, the girl who had walked away from the beach that night taking with her his heart, and from that moment on, he had come to expect from the outset that every other woman he got involved with would also some day abandon him.

He felt sure now that Mackenzie Jarvis loved him too, although she was doing a damned good job of hiding it right now, he thought ruefully.

He suddenly recalled the loving voice of his fevered dreams, and knew with absolute certainty that it had not been Gabrielle reaching out to him, willing him to fight, to live.

It had been Mackenzie Jarvis, and he suddenly remembered something else that she had said, something about knowing how to love, but that being loved back was something she knew little of ….

So, she had suspected that he loved her, but somehow couldn't bring herself to believe it.

Somehow he had to make her believe it.

Somehow, he had to get her to trust him, to trust that in giving him her heart, he would not break it, to trust that in giving him her love he would not deride it or throw it back in her face, but that he would gladly accept it and then return it, tenfold.

She loved him.

He loved her.

_**But what of it?**_

_**Slow down, fella, gotta think this through first.**_

He suddenly reminded himself that he knew next to nothing about the woman standing beside him.

True, she wore no rings on her fingers, but that didn't mean that she didn't have someone special in her life.

Had she ever been married?

Was she widowed?

Divorced?

Did she have a child hidden away someplace, away at school in England maybe?

He did not know if she was free to love him.

And, he reminded himself, she did not know if he was free for her to love.

Maybe they did feel something for each other, but maybe it just wasn't meant to be, maybe it was not meant for them to find happiness together.

Maybe it would be better to wait and see, to find out exactly what her situation was, before he declared undying love for her and made a complete horse's ass of himself.

"Sure?" she dragged her gaze back from the distant past and looked at him with big, anxious eyes now.

"Sure," he assured with a gentle smile, and for a moment, she could not quite read the look on his face, she only knew that it made her knees feel weak and her heart trip in her chest.

_**Dammit, you've got to stop doing that, Stringfellow, or else you might just get more than you bargained for ….**_

"I might not be up to a marathon just yet, but I think I can haul my butt over to that door …."

The look she gave him now told him clearly that she sincerely doubted it, but she did not protest, instead she pulled the arm that she had draped round his waist a little tighter around him, giving him more support as he straightened up and tried to get his balance.

It felt good.

_**Very good.**_

_**C'mon, snap out of it!**_

He told himself sternly, fighting the desire to reach out and drag her to him so that he could clamp his lips down firmly on to hers ….

_**Business first, personal stuff later …. **_

He reminded himself sourly and mentally made a note to remind himself that next time Archangel came up with some harebrained scheme, he would tell him exactly where he could shove it, deal or no deal!


	7. Chapter 7

_REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

Chapter Seven.

**Several thousand miles away,**

**Knightsbridge, Headquarters of The Firm.**

Monday, approximately eleven pm.

"Sir …." Marella flung Archangel's office door open without waiting to be announced and strode purposefully up to his desk.

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III was seated behind his desk, pretending to be immersed in the six o'clock interim reports, but really his mind had been on the status of the Airwolf mission.

The limited data they had thus far received from the satellite had revealed nothing of Airwolf's whereabouts, and he was beginning to have some serious misgivings about his faith in Stringfellow Hawke's immortality.

It had been too long ….

_**Too long ….**_

The first thing Marella had done was to organise for the satellite to survey the area of Colonel Kubasa's training camp on the Cimbawe/Kembala border and the high quality black and white photographs she had shown him a couple of hours ago had revealed the empty, seemingly abandoned camp, and no sign of Airwolf.

Archangel knew that Hawke would have camouflaged the helicopter so that it was not easily visible from any passing aircraft, but simple camouflage netting would not have fooled the satellite.

Airwolf was not at the training camp.

Archangel had realised the significance immediately.

As there was no indication that the original mission plan had been altered significantly to include the use of Airwolf to get to into Kembala, it stood to reason that Hawke and Santini had indeed made it back to the training camp, and had used Airwolf to escape.

_**So where they hell were they now?**_

His heart had skipped several beats as he realised that the Russians had surface to air missiles in their arsenal, and that there was a distinct possibility that if Hawke and Santini were injured, Hawke's flying skills might have been impaired, and finally out of Sunbursts and ammunition ….

Airwolf may very well have been shot down.

That thought had made for a very uncomfortable evening.

There was one other possibility.

Hawke had made a run for it, seeking sanctuary in the only other place he could be sure of a friendly welcome.

Limbawe.

It was a long shot, but at this juncture, Archangel was prepared to try anything, even if it meant getting down on his knees and turning over every damned stone himself.

A brief phone call to the government of Limbawe had established that they had not detected any unidentified aircraft in their airspace, and nor had they received a request for sanctuary from Hawke.

So that was that.

Another dead end.

_**C'mon man, think, think! Where else would Hawke go?**_

However, Archangel had come up blank. Even Airwolf had a limited flight range and would have been out of fuel before she got half way across the Atlantic ….

Indeed, the fuel tanker Archangel had organised for a mid air refuelling was still on standby, sitting on the runway awaiting his orders ….

So, he had reasoned, the best place to keep looking was Africa.

Now, as he pulled his thoughts together and fixed his one good eye on his assistant, he knew that something momentous had happened.

She was smiling, her dark obsidian eyes dancing with excitement, the previous fatigue he had seen there, suddenly melted away from her exquisite and exotic features.

"You found them?"

"Well, no, actually Sir, Hawke found us."

"What?"

"We just got a signal over Airwolf's secure link, from someone sounding remarkably like Stringfellow Hawke," she beamed at him now.

"Well, I'll be damned …"

He dragged his stiff body out of his chair and limped around his desk, following Marella as quickly as his game leg would allow down the hallway to the elevator and then two floors down, into the small communications centre, which even at this time of the night was buzzing with activity, soft voices whispering into headsets as they sent and received communications between agents and other offices around the world, and eavesdropped on conversations, intercepting and descrambling top secret dealings between men in power across the globe, who never for one moment thought that their lines of communication were not secure.

"Hawke!" Archangel exclaimed as he grabbed a spare headset and pulled it roughly over his head, securing the microphone in place over his lips, and the earpiece over his right ear, standing behind Marella as she sat at the radio unit also pulling on a headset.

The old cynic in Archangel had a fleeting doubt that the man on the other end of the secure line was really Stringfellow Hawke, after all, if Airwolf was in the Russians hands, it would probably have taken them this long to figure out how to access her systems without blowing themselves to kingdom come, and use the secure com link, but he also knew that Marella would have immediately run a voice print analysis and made absolutely certain that it was Hawke before she had come to get him.

"Hello Michael …."

"Where the devil are you?"

"Good to hear from you too, Michael …." Hawke's familiar voice drawled sarcastically, and for the first time, Archangel allowed himself to feel relieved.

It really was Hawke on the other end of this secure line and out of the corner of his eye he spotted the smug smile Marella had plastered over her beautiful face.

"What took you so long?"

"I was kinda busy, Michael …."

On the other side of the world, Stringfellow Hawke was perched uncomfortably in the right pilot's seat of Airwolf's cockpit, legs dangling out over the ledge of the open doorway, with Mackenzie Jarvis standing beside him, leaning against Airwolf's pristine black paintwork, watching anxiously as he fought to remain upright in the seat, white faced, and teeth clenched as he had reached out to switch on the radio.

"We heard the party got a little, rowdy …. Are you and Dominic alright?" Archangel asked now with genuine concern.

"Good of you to ask …. We've both had better days."

Again Hawke drawled sarcastically, his voice sounding a little breathy and hoarse.

"We got a little …. Scuffed up, but we'll survive."

From somewhere in the background Archangel became aware of a loud snort of derision and at his end, Stringfellow Hawke shot Mackenzie Jarvis a withering look as she rolled her eyes heavenward in exasperation.

"Is that Dominic with you?"

"No Michael, it's just me and the chickens right now …." And to prove the point, Archangel could indeed now hear chickens clucking away contentedly in the background.

_**A wolf in a chicken coup? **_

Only Hawke could come up with that novel way of secreting Airwolf!

"What happened?"

"You blew it," Hawke snarled and Archangel closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.

It wasn't the first time Hawke had accused him of that, and he knew that he was right. Again.

"Let's just say that it wasn't our finest hour, and leave it at that, shall we?"

"Not your finest hour!" Hawke's tone was incredulous as he squirmed in his seat, causing Mackenzie Jarvis to lay a warm, stilling hand against his thigh, glowering at him as she mouthed at him to calm down and keep still as she pointed at his shoulder wound.

"I should damned well say so, Michael. Someone in your office must have been having a really bad hair day when they agreed to go along with this shambles …."

Hawke seethed through clenched teeth, breathing hard now, feeling cold sweat trickling down his back, between his shoulder blades, and his strength waning.

"In future Michael, don't get any fancy ideas about loaning us out to other agencies. I just won't do it. At least when I work for you, I know whose lights to punch out when it goes south on us …. Right now I have a serious hankering to break someone's head, but I don't know whose. From where I'm sitting, you'll do as a pretty good substitute until I find the right guy …. Just don't stand too close to me for a while when I get back …." Hawke warned darkly, ignoring Mackenzie Jarvis' scathing look.

Oh yes, no doubting it was definitely Stringfellow Hawke on the other end of the line, Archangel thought sourly, reminded that it also wasn't the first time that he had threatened to punch him, indeed, the younger man had actually done so once, way back at the beginning of their renewed association, and Archangel had no desire to repeat the incident.

"Do you have something to report?" The government man's tone was edged with irritation now. Now that they had the pleasantries out of the way it was time to get down to business.

"Oh yes, youbetchya!" Hawke growled.

"Good, then let's hear it."

"The man we extricated from Cimbawe was not, I repeat _**not**_ Robert Nimbani."

"_**What?**_" Archangel exclaimed, turning to regard Marella with undisguised bewilderment and noted the frown knitting her brow.

"I have it on good authority …."

Hawke's gaze now briefly drifted to where Mackenzie Jarvis stood beside him, eyes full of concern for him, as she nodded confirmation that she was absolutely certain that the man in her mortuary was not Robert Nimbani.

"The guy we fished out of that rotten prison cell was not Robert Nimbani."

"Then who the devil was he?"

"Don't know. Probably just some poor schmuck who looked enough like him from a distance to fool anybody who was interested …."

Hawke paused to draw a shaky breath and Mackenzie Jarvis moved just a little closer, because, he suspected that she thought he was going to pass out at any minute, and he had a nasty feeling that she was right.

"Maybe someone who ticked off the General. They weren't exactly treating him like royalty, I know that, Michael. Another one of his rivals, maybe? I don't know anything for sure, except that the guy is dead, and that the General is passing him off as Robert Nimbani to secure his hold on Kembala."

"That begs the question …. Is Robert Nimbani still alive, and if so, where is he?"

"Right. I think I may be on to something at this end. Let me do a little digging around, and then I'll get back to you."

"Hawke …."

"The Lady is fine, Michael," Hawke assured on a ragged breath now. "She's airworthy, even if Dom and I aren't, just yet …." And now Archangel could clearly hear the fatigue and pain in Hawke's voice and had the distinct impression that the younger man was playing down the severity of his and Santini's injuries.

"I guess we won't be going anywhere for a few days, so why not let us work on trying to find Mr Nimbani? What harm can it do? Nothing else to do around here but watch the chickens laying anyway …."

"Where exactly is 'here'?"

"Some place safe, Michael," Hawke assured now. "And we're amongst friends, so there's no need for you to be sending in the goon squad. Ok?"

"Ok," Archangel acquiesced. "Hawke, I can't tell you what it would mean if you could locate Nimbani and persuade him to come back with you."

"I'll do my best, Michael, but if you were Nimbani, would you poke your head out of your hidey hole right now, just to get it shot off?"

"All the more reason to get him to come here. We can at least offer him better protection."

"Michael, it occurs to me that the guy might think that the safest thing for him right now is to have everyone thinking he's dead. Dead men don't need protection …."

"Then it's your job to persuade him that his people still need him, and that he is still the only real chance to oust General Mendofa and restore peace and democracy to his country."

"I'm no diplomat …." Hawke protested.

Archangel could not suppress a soft smile at this.

Tact was hardly Hawke's forte and he subscribed to the 'actions speak louder than words' theory of getting the job done.

Unfortunately, right now, he was all they had, and they didn't have time for him to work on perfecting his subtlety gene.

"You are today, Hawke... I'm sure you'll find some way to persuade him. Try your infamous charm, and if that fails, I'm sure you'll think of something, but you've got to get through to him. Once he comes out of hiding and steps up to the plate, General Mendofa is going to have a hard time retracting every statement he's made in the last couple of days, but until that happens ... There is nobody else to challenge him."

"Like I said, I'll do my best …."

"Hawke …." Archangel could not disguise the concern in his voice now, and for just a moment, Stringfellow Hawke was genuinely touched by it.

"Yeah, I know, Michael."

Hawke let out a deep sigh now.

He knew it wasn't Archangel's fault that the intelligence they had based his mission around had been dubious, and now that he had vented a little spleen and outlined a few ground rules, and was sure that Archangel was left with no doubt about where he stood with regard to their future dealings, he felt a little easier.

"I sure hope someone's taking care of my dog …."


	8. Chapter 8

_REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

Chapter Eight

"That's it! You stay right where you are mister, while I go get a wheelchair!" Mackenzie Jarvis glared at Stringfellow Hawke as he switched off the radio in Airwolf's cockpit now, her beautiful dark green eyes positively fizzing with rage and anxiety as she took in his pallor, perspiration soaked clothes and ragged breathing.

The only positive she could find in what she saw was that his shoulder hadn't started bleeding.

"I don't need a perambulator …." Hawke choked out in outrage. "I'm perfectly capable of …."

"_**String!"**_

Mackenzie Jarvis yelped as she watched him sliding out of his seat and swiftly rushed forward to catch him as he almost toppled head first out of the cockpit, careful to avoid contact with his wounded shoulder as she slid her arms around his waist and absorbed his weight with her own body, and Hawke suddenly found himself with his nose planted in her shoulder bone.

"For crying out loud man, what are you trying to do! Kill yourself!" She choked back tears as her hand came up to cup the back of his head.

"You _**stupid**_, thoughtless, arrogant, _**stupid,**_ egotistical, _**stupid **_idiot! I didn't spend hours putting you back together so you could …."

Mackenzie Jarvis was suddenly rendered speechless as her body was consumed with uncontrollable, quaking sobs, as she wrapped her arms around him tightly, and despite the fact that the world was a very unsteady and fuzzy place, Stringfellow Hawke allowed himself a gentle smile as he sighed softly into her shoulder and then drew in the subtle scent of her before letting out another soft, contented sigh.

"Mack …."

His voice was slightly slurred and thick as he somewhat reluctantly drew away from her shaking body and found himself gazing up into her white, anxious face, big green eyes flooded with tears which were running unhindered down her cheeks and dripping off her chin on to his robe.

And in that instant, he knew that he had been right about her.

Mackenzie Jarvis _**did **_love him.

She couldn't hide it any longer.

She couldn't fight it any longer.

She loved him and was beside herself with fear that he was going to open his shoulder wound and bleed out, and that there would be nothing that she could do about it.

"You hard headed, stiff-necked, obstinate, crazy …. Did I mention stupid? Stupid, _**stupid **_yank!" she sobbed bitterly. "Do you know how close you came to …. "

"It's alright Mack …." His voice was so low, he wasn't sure if she heard him. "Hush now, love …. I'm alright …."

With what little strength he had left, Stringfellow Hawke reached out with his good hand and cupping the back of Mackenzie Jarvis' head drew her face gently down toward him, closing his eyes and holding his breath in anticipation of the sweet moment when her lips met his.

Caught unawares, he heard Mackenzie's sharp intake of breath, and then her soft lips were gently pressing against his own and he wound his long tan fingers deep into her mouse brown hair and eased her face closer, moulding his lips to hers, moving slowly at first, encouraging her to part her lips so that he could dip his tongue inside, tasting the sweetness within.

Instinctively, her arms tightened around him, her hands coming up to lie flat against the broad expanse of his back, and letting out a soft, sweet little moan of pleasure she relaxed in his arms, moving her mouth against his own with more confidence and more urgency, her tongue briefly clashing with his, sending a delightful shiver down both of their spines.

And then, just as suddenly, Mackenzie was pulling away from him, and Stringfellow Hawke thought that his heart would stop dead in his chest and he would die of disappointment, as she struggled to move out of his grip.

Expecting to see outrage and rejection on her face ….

Maybe even get a smack around the chops ...

Except the look on her face wasn't one of anger or outrage, but the most heart rending expression he had ever witnessed, a mixture of fear and wonderment and awe and love and acceptance, as she raised both of her hands now, not to slap him, but to tenderly cup each side of his face, tears rolling silently down her ashen cheeks, as she gazed lovingly into his deep blue eyes, and then she was tilting his head back gently, moving closer, pressing her lips to each of his cheeks, chin, forehead, eyebrows, eyelids, the tip of his nose, tormenting him with every delightful little butterfly kiss, as he waited impatiently for her mouth to find it's way back to his lips.

Then he had to wait no longer as she again let out a soft little moan of pleasure and clamped her lips firmly against his, drinking deeply, her delicate surgeon's fingers stroking the taut muscles across his back, skipping lightly over the play of muscles in his shoulders, and then moving on up the column of his neck, gently brushing the slightly damp hair in his nape before winding themselves deep into the clean, crisp hair closer to the crown.

Finally breathless and dizzy, Stringfellow Hawke had to break the kiss, and he again found himself burying his nose in Mack's shoulder bone, his chest heaving as he fought to draw in air, and felt Mackenzie's gentle hand stroking the hair on the back of his head now.

"Oh God, Mack …. " He moaned softly into her shoulder, tightening his arm around her waist now for fear that she would suddenly realise what had happened and make a bolt for it again.

There was no way that he was going to allow her to run away from him again …. No way she was going to be able to avoid confronting her true feelings for him, and his in return for her.

They had both been given this wonderful, miraculous second chance, and he was determined that this time they would not blow it.

"I wish you wouldn't keep doing that …."

She gave a huge ragged sigh now, but, he was pleased to find, did not try to disentangle herself from his embrace.

"You can't tell me that you don't like it, Mack. I know you do," he gave a soft chuckle and nuzzled her shoulder bone with his nose. "And I've waited for such a long time to get a second helping …."

"We shouldn't …. We mustn't …."

"Mack, will you do us both a favour please, and shut up …."

He lifted his face to gaze up into her beautiful green eyes, seeing uncertainty and shock, the bewilderment, and the passion that still raged through her and again raised his hand to cup the back of her head and drew her down for another long, deep, drugging kiss.

This time, Mackenzie Jarvis did protest, wriggling and trying to push him away, but it was only a half hearted attempt to break free, because she could not seem to make her lips stop devouring his, and she did not finally succeed in dragging herself away until they were both thoroughly breathless and flushed.

"Mr Hawke …."

"What happened to String?"

"Mr Hawke …." She drew in another deep, ragged breath, her face a picture of confusion and consternation and love.

"This is totally inappropriate …. Totally unprofessional …. You're my patient …. I'm your doctor …." She stammered, flustered and struggling to find some measure of dignity, despite the fact that her heart was bursting with joy. "You'll get me struck off …." She protested, but it sounded weak and lame even to her own ears.

Stringfellow Hawke regarded her with calm, deep blue eyes and then, letting out a soft little sigh he cupped her face gently in his work roughened hand, long tan fingers lightly caressing her earlobe and stroking a stray tendril of hair back behind her ear, forcing her to keep her attention fixed firmly on his face.

_**Oh God, Stringfellow don't look at me like that, please don't look at me like that, or else I'll be lost forever ….**_

"I love you, Mack," he told her softly, sincerely, with all that he felt for her burning brightly in his eyes, such an ardent, sweet, soppy and endearing look on his face as he used his thumb to gently stroke her cheek now, it melted Mackenzie's bones.

"I have loved you for a very long time, in fact, if you hadn't run away and done your disappearing act fifteen years ago, I would have told you then how I feel about you …."

He used his strong, warm thumb to lightly stroke an errant tear as it suddenly spilled out through her lashes and rolled slowly down toward her chin.

"I know it's crazy, but it is the truth. I love you, and I think you love me too …."

"Oh darling, of course I do …."

The confession was torn from her on a moan of anguish, and Hawke found himself smiling softly at her as he watched her eyes suddenly grow wide with astonishment as she realised what she had said.

"Darling," he cooed. "I like the sound of that, especially the way _**you **_say it. Dahrling …." He drawled breathily, mimicking her cut glass English accent now. "We've lost so much time, Mack," he grew serious again now. "I'm not prepared to lose any more. I love you …."

"I love you too, String, I do, but …."

"But?"

He regarded her now with anxiety, wondering if this was the point where he discovered that she was married, engaged, involved with someone else, or indeed, she had made vows that committed her to a life as a Bride of Christ ….

"Is there someone else?" He asked on a ragged breath, brilliant sky blue eyes boring into her. "You're not a nun, are you? Please tell me you're not a nun …."

"No String, I'm not a nun. _**You **_put the mockers on _**that **_fifteen years ago, with your last little performance as Romeo …."

"What?"

"That was my life plan, the one I told you about. It was taken as given that when I finished my education I would take the veil, however, after my brief encounter on a beach with a certain hot shot pilot …."

Her fingers suddenly found their way up to his brow where she pushed back a stray tendril of damp hair that had fallen into his eyes and she let out a ragged breath.

"I knew that I could never go through with it. You are the reason I became a doctor, String, and I am so very glad that you kissed me that night because it made me realise that I would be throwing my life away if I entered the Church. I saw a lot of things in a different light after that night, String, so thank you for that."

She dropped her hand now and drew her gaze away from him, growing thoughtful and introspective.

"In answer to your question, no, there's no-one …. Hasn't ever been anyone, not since …."

Her voice trailed away then as she swallowed down the lump that was suddenly in her throat and saw immediately the spark of surprise flare in his deep blue eyes, which was then almost immediately replaced by something else.

Not pity, as she might have expected, but understanding.

"But what about you, String? I know about Gabrielle …."

"Gabrielle?"

"You were delirious, calling out for her …. You must have loved her very much. I'm sorry you lost her …."

Hawke hung his head briefly, and when he looked back up at her Mackenzie could clearly see the pain there in his eyes and it tore at her heart.

"I cared for her, yes. She was a very charming and engaging young woman who came into my life and made me happy. I didn't expect it, and so, when she died …. I guess I took it hard. Real hard …. I'd been alone for such a long time. It came as a surprise to me that I could feel that way about Gabrielle …. It kind of snuck up on me …. I don't find it easy to offer love, Mack ..." He confessed raggedly.

"Because you're so afraid that if you love someone, they will leave you, or die …."

"Yes," he confirmed on another deep, ragged breath now.

"And yet, you say you love me …."

"Yes," he confirmed, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on her lovely face, hoping that his tone of voice and the look on his face would leave her in no doubt that it was the truth.

"Aren't you afraid I might leave you? That I might die?"

"You would always be free to leave me Mack, if things weren't right …." He told her solemnly, his eyes never leaving her face.

"If I made you unhappy …. I wouldn't force you to stay …. And as for the possibility of you dying .…" he let out a long, ragged breath now and it was clear to Mackenzie that he was still struggling to come to terms with this particular demon, that it was a very real fear for him, and she wished that she could tell him that it would never happen, but it would be a false promise.

Everyone died.

Him too, one day, and there was every chance that she might be left to face the world with out him once again.

"I lost you once already, Mack, I don't think God would be so cruel as to bring us back together after all these years of loneliness and heartache, only to take you away from me again, at least not before we've had about a hundred happy years together …."

"Not the benevolent, wise and all loving God I believe in, no …." She sighed softly and reached out to cup his chin gently.

"Mack …. We're both free. We love each other. I won't rush you into anything, but I need you to know that I'm not kidding around here. I don't find it easy to love, to let people get close, and yes, I'm desperately afraid that I might lose you again too, but I'm willing to take a chance, because somehow I just know that you and I are meant to be together …. Doesn't that tell you something?"

She nodded very gently, her eyes greedily drinking in the love she could see in his eyes, and the sincerity too and knew that he had opened up his heart and bared his soul to her.

Yet she simply could not give him the answers he sought.

Not yet.

She needed time to think, time to sit down and come to terms with the fact that not only did he love her, but that he had actually been the one to speak out first, needing her to know how he felt, wanting her to believe that it was the truth.

He loved her ….

_**What a wonderful thought ….**_

He really loved her ….

_**Wow ….**_

She now lived in a truly glorious and amazing and topsy turvey world, where Stringfellow Hawke actually really loved her ….

And she loved him ….

Well, she always had ….

Only now she could admit it, and feel it and show it ….

_**Show him.**_

And maybe things would turn out right for them.

Maybe it was meant to be after all ….

Now all that remained to be seen was if she was as courageous as he was ….

If she was willing to accept what he said, and take a chance, risk her heart and her future happiness ….

Something which she had no intention of being rushed into.

Or of taking lightly.

_**Fools rush in where angels fear to tread ….**_

_**Oh, for crying out loud, kiddo, for once in your life do something foolish …. and wonderful and reckless and brave …. and embrace the gift he is offering!**_

_**Better to finally know, after all these years, than carry on living your life wondering what might have been …. Or regretting what could have been!**_

She wanted to savour every precious minute of this heady feeling of warmth and wonderment, to bask in the beauty that was Stringfellow Hawke's love, to relive every delightful and delicious moment of his lips moving so passionately and so hungrily against her own ….

And marvel at her own suddenly wanton and uninhibited response to that kiss.

Just in case she woke up in the morning and discovered that it had all been a dream ….

_**Yes, it is a dream kiddo …. **_

_**It's the dream you've been waiting for to come true all your life ….**_

_**Don't blow it now!**_

One thing was certain …. This time she could not run away.

This time she had to stand fast and face the music, because she owed it to herself, and to him.

Her childish stupidity had cheated them both of so much time, time when they could have been together, building a life, a future …. A family.

She was adult enough to know that there were no guarantees, but she owed them both the chance to find out if what they felt for each other was something strong and enduring, or if it would simply fizzle out naturally, allowing them both to move on, without any regrets, knowing it was not for the want of trying ….

It was what she should have done fifteen years ago, instead of running away.

"Now is probably not the best time to be talking about this, String," she lightly rubbed her thumb along his strong, stubble roughened chin, reminding herself that her patient was still only a few steps down the road to recovery, and baby steps at that.

There was no mistaking the weariness and pain etched into the fine lines around his eyes now, and it she didn't get him back inside, back on to the IV antibiotics and get some fluids into him, there was every chance he could suffer a relapse.

"You've had more than enough excitement for one day, mister. We need to get you back into bed …."

"I like the sound of that …." He drawled deciding that things had gotten way too serious and that he needed to lighten the mood a little.

He couldn't help getting the sense that she was mentally retreating from him, taking a step back. No doubt wracking her brain for some excuse why they could not possibly look forward to that century of happiness he had just mentioned.

He knew that he had to let her have time to come to terms with her feelings for him, and what he felt for her, but he wasn't about to allow her the chance to begin to have second thoughts, doubts, to find some excuse why they couldn't and shouldn't be together.

As far as he was concerned, this was his journey's end. He had reached his final destination.

Mackenzie Jarvis' warm and loving arms.

Mackenzie Jarvis' heart.

_**Oh God, give her the courage to take that one last step ….**_ He silently beseeched of his Maker.

He watched Mackenzie's eyes grow wide with shock and embarrassment now and her cheeks colour flame red, right up to the roots of her hair.

It was a very charming and becoming sight, and he was suddenly consumed by a wave of love and tenderness and a burning need to crush her to him and kiss the breath out of her once more ….

"And I think somebody needs another sedative …." She mumbled darkly and this time he could not suppress a gentle laugh.

"I take it that means you don't plan on keeping me company …." And now he could see that he really had shocked her.

_**Oh God, was it possible that she really was such an innocent?**_

_**Oh hell …. **_

_**Maybe she had been living her life all these years exactly like a nun ….**_

"Mack, you are a very attractive and desirable woman …." He told her gently, but he could see the doubt in her eyes now, and he knew that she was going to take some convincing, and he also knew that she was right about now not being the right time.

"Mack, I love you, and I want you to understand something from the start. I don't think you are ugly, I _**never**_ thought you were ugly. There is something very beautiful deep down inside of you that you just can't hide, love. No matter how you might perceive yourself, I have always thought that you were beautiful, Mack. You are warm, kind, gentle, funny, sensitive, caring, compassionate, smart, sassy and yes, sexy, but if you can't accept that that is the way that I see you, then I don't think we have a chance …."

She nodded gently, and he could see that she was working hard at trying to believe what he was saying, but it so went against the grain, he wondered if she ever really would.

He let out a deep sigh now, weariness suddenly overcoming him, and now she was looking back at him with her keen physician's eyes once more, noting his pallor, the dark circles under his eyes and his rapid, ragged breathing.

She reached out now to stroke his cheek, very gently, her delicate fingers shaking slightly as she pulled them away and she blessed him with a long, loving smile.

"I thought you were the one who was supposed to sweep _**me **_off my feet, Mr Hawke," she grinned most charmingly now. "But, I think if you're still going to refuse to use the 'perambulator' I'm going to have to carry you back to bed …."

"Sounds like a plan," he chuckled, a wicked twinkle in his beautiful blue eyes and a devilish grin on his lips.

"In your dreams, Stringfellow Hawke, in your dreams …. Now why don't you do us both a favour, and stow that macho garbage, and let me get you a wheelchair, that way, on the way back inside, I might just be persuaded to allow you a five minute visit with Mr Santini."

She made to move away then, but Hawke stopped her, capturing her hand gently in his then and giving it a soft, reassuring squeeze.

"Don't think about running away, Mack. Now that I've found you, I don't plan on letting you out of my sight …. We've waited so long …. We deserve the chance to see what the future holds for us. Nobody said it was going to be easy, but if something is worth having, it's worth fighting for. And if there's one thing I know how to do, it's to fight for what is right, for what I want …."

From the look on his face and the tone of his voice, Mackenzie Jarvis knew that he was telling her the truth, and her heart lurched in her chest.

_**God, how she loved him ….**_

And yes, the power of her feelings for him scared the hell out of her, again ….

More than that, the power and depth of love for her that she could see shining in his eyes terrified her, and thrilled her all at the same time.

_**Oh God, please, let it be alright ….**_

_**Let us find some way to make it right …. To make it work.**_

_**I've waited so long ….**_

_**I can't lose him, not again ….**_

I have so much love to give, and he not only needs that love, but he wants it too ….

And I need his love.

_**Please God, I beg you …. **_

_**Let us have our happy ever after ….**_

Hawke regarded her now, such a lost and perplexed expression on her dear face, and he knew that he had given her much food for thought.

He just hoped he hadn't scared her to death, coming on so strong ….

_**So much for taking things slowly …. **_

He thought ruefully, but then reminded himself of just how long he had waited for this moment, and knew that his natural tendency to rush on in headlong, to seize the day, had again served him well.

"C'mon Limey, chin up …."

He reached out now and gently cuffed her chin, drawing her incredibly deep green eyes back down to settle on his smiling face.

"I know it's scary, love, but we can do it. All I'm asking is that you give us .… Give _**me**_ a chance. It's not supposed to be the end of the world, but a new beginning …."

"Limey?" She arched an eyebrow at him now in indignation and he found it most amusing. "Limey?"

"Well you didn't think you were going to get away with calling me a yank did you?"

"_**Stupid**_ yank …." She corrected.

"Stupid, crazy, hard headed, stiff-necked, arrogant, obstinate_**,**_ thoughtless, egotistical …." He reeled off. "Guilty as charged …. " He grinned again. "I love you, Limey …."

"I love you too, yank …."


	9. Chapter 9

_REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

Chapter Nine.

Dominic Santini was dozing, drifting in and out of that nice, cosy, warm place in-between sleep and wakefulness, when he was suddenly brought back to full awareness but the commotion coming from just outside his door.

It took a moment for him to shake off the remnants of sleep, but when he did his gaze was immediately drawn to the young man seated in a wheelchair, blocking the open doorway.

He was clad in thin dark green linen pants and had an old fashioned checkered bathrobe slung around his shoulders, but it was the sight of all that bandaging around his torso and left shoulder that immediately caught Santini's attention.

"_**String!"**_ He exclaimed, quashing his horror at the obvious extent of the younger man's injury, unable to hide his joy at seeing his young friend, a broad grin splitting his face and his rheumy grey eyes almost popping out of his head.

"Still sleeping on the job, old man …." Stringfellow Hawke's voice was deep and gruff with emotion, as he smiled with obviously relief and affection and feasted his eyes on his old friend, rejoicing at the fact that he looked so well.

All things considered.

To Hawke's knowing eyes, the older man looked a little pale, tired, his familiar rumpled features drawn, a hint of pain in and around his eyes, but for all that, he looked remarkably good.

To Hawke it was still a miracle that he was alive at all.

_**The indomitable and indestructible Dominic Santini!**_

Another blessing in his life, Hawke found himself thinking, as he let out a ragged sigh, finding that he had to swallow down hard on the lump that was suddenly blocking his throat.

He had come so close to losing this dear man.

His trusted friend.

It was no good ….

He really was going to have to rethink this whole Airwolf thing, because there was no way that he could go through something like this again. His nerves just wouldn't stand it.

His worst nightmare had almost become reality ….

Yet despite that, he had absolutely no doubt that Dom would do it all again, in a heartbeat.

"Man …."

The dark expression that suddenly settled on Dominic Santini's face made Hawke frown, and he could not help noticing the decidedly frosty looks that Dominic was aiming at Mackenzie Jarvis, as she negotiated the wheelchair through the doorway and wheeled him a little closer to Dominic's bed.

"If you feel half as bad as you look, String, then I wouldn't wanna be in your skin …."

"Gee, thanks Dom. Good to see you too …." Hawke muttered darkly now, and behind him, Mackenzie Jarvis fought to smother a smile.

It was true, Hawke admitted to himself, he wasn't feeling at his best right now, but he had certainly improved upon the way that he had felt after dealing with Archangel.

"And you need not look so damned pleased with yourself. You lied to me, girlie …." Santini accused, glowering at Mackenzie Jarvis now, who rolled her eyes heavenward in exasperation and let out an impatient little sigh.

"Hey Dom, don't blame Mack," String warned now in a low voice.

"No, please, don't blame Mack, Mr Santini. I'm just an innocent bystander who got mowed down by your impatient young friend. This, I assure you, is all his own doing …."

"You look like hell, String …."

"You should have seen me fifteen minutes ago …"

Hawke let out a rueful sigh, completely unaware of the deep blush that was suddenly creeping up Mackenzie Jarvis' cheeks, forcing her to bow her head briefly, hiding behind her bangs as she feigned the need to cough.

"This is an improvement," Hawke clarified and Mackenzie drew in a deep, calming breath, but could not mistake the strange looks being aimed in her direction by an understandably confused Dominic Santini.

"Anyway, you don't look so hot yourself …." Hawke growled now

"Gentlemen, if you're just going to bicker, I'm taking String back to his room …." Mackenzie Jarvis warned now, having gotten herself under control, but there was more than a hint of amusement in her voice as she watched their antics, knowing that it was just a cover for the way that they really felt about each other.

_**Guys!**_

_**Why couldn't they just admit that they cared about each other for heavens' sake!**_

"Hey, how come he gets special privileges, and gets to get out of bed anyway?" Dominic Santini changed the subject now, still stinging from Sister Mary's earlier refusal to allow him to get out of bed and walk the short distance down the corridor to use the bathroom.

Mackenzie Jarvis saw the look that crossed Dominic Santini's face now and knew that he suspected that the only thing that would have induced her to allow his young friend out of his sick bed so soon would have to have been a matter of life and death, and she blessed him with a smile.

"I needed to go talk to Michael, so I persuaded Mack to help me out of bed and to get to the Lady …."

"And he's going straight back to bed in a minute or two …." Mackenzie Jarvis reminded, willing herself not to blush again, the look she now gave to Hawke leaving him in no doubt that she meant business this time.

"Maybe I'll leave you two alone, just for a minute …. " She offered now, wanting to give the two men time alone to talk.

"You," she kept her gaze fixed firmly on Santini now, leaving him in no doubt that she was talking to him. "Stay put. You can get out of bed when _**I **_tell you, and not before."

"Yes Ma'am ….."

"And you …." She turned her attention to the young man sitting rather awkwardly in the wheelchair, sagging and slumped and a little lopsided now. "Mind your manners and keep your temper. No more excitement. Ok?"

Dominic Santini watched with interest the way that Hawke and the lady doctor were looking at each other, and suddenly all became clear to him.

_**Well I'll be damned ….**_

_**Well good for you kids …. **_

_**Good for you!**_

There was such obvious love and tenderness in the way the two young people were looking at each other and smiling at each other now, it touched Santini's heart and he found that he could no longer be out of sorts with Hawke.

It had all been bluster anyway, and the kid knew it.

Santini's way of showing his affection for his young friend, without embarrassing either of them.

He loved the young guy dearly and was just so glad to see that he was alive and relatively in one piece, although his sickly grey pallor and the dark circles under his eyes testified to the fact that he would need quite a bit more time to heal.

"I'll be back for you in a few minutes, with that sedative I promised …." Mackenzie Jarvis grinned at the sour expression that settled on Hawke's face now, then turned and blessed Dominic Santini with a radiant smile and a quick, conspiratorial wink, before taking her leave.

"Good, you can help me out of this damned straight jacket too …." Hawke muttered darkly at her departing back.

"Well kid, I guess you got your reunion after all …." Santini smiled gently at his young friend now, indicating that he knew exactly whom the young lady who had just left them was, and the way the younger man felt about her too.

"Oh yeah, I guess you remember Mack …."

"Sure do. I always liked that kid …. I guess you did too …. You sly dog, you kept that pretty quiet …."

Hawke hung his head briefly and then raised it again to give him a most endearing and bashful smile in return.

"So?" Santini asked hopefully and Hawke knew that he was waiting for him to enlighten him, but, he suspected, not about where they stood as far as their mission was concerned.

"Later. Right now we have other things to think about," Hawke grew serious now, knowing that he did not have a lot of time to fill Dominic Santini in before Mackenzie returned.

"Trouble?" Santini asked quickly. "The Lady?" He demanded, his eyes widening as he suddenly wondered just what kind of landing Hawke had managed, after all, he had been pretty close to blacking out, Santini knew. Had he done some serious damage to the Lady?

"No, your precious Lady's fine," Hawke assured. "At least I think she's fine. Last I remember everything was functioning properly …. Except her crew that is," Hawke smiled ruefully at Santini again now.

"She's safe, in the barn. Mack and Father Paddy got her out of sight and she's keeping the chickens company right now."

"So what gives?" Hawke could not fail to hear the relief in Santini's voice, and again found him self marvelling at just how much his old friend cared for his Lady. "And how is Michael?"

"Michael is Michael," Hawke intoned sourly.

"So what was so damned important that you nearly killed yourself to speak to him about?"

"The mission."

"Naturally, the mission …." Santini rolled his eyes heavenward, briefly. "I hope you gave him what for …."

"I did."

"So what about it, aside from the obvious …. It all went to hell …"

"Think about it for a minute, Dom."

"Dammit, String, lying here waiting to hear if you were gonna live or not, I've done nothing else but think about it!"

"And what did you come up with?"

"Somebody somewhere made some serious errors in judgement. You and me for starters! We should _**never **_have agreed to ..."

"I know that Dom, but we did, so let's think about what actually happened. From the minute we got there I got the feeling that something just wasn't right. The getting in was just too easy …."

"Yeah," Santini found himself agreeing now, recalling the comparative ease with which they had found the cell block, and Robert Nimbani, the fact that he hadn't been as heavily guarded as they had been led to expect, and that despite the obvious show of force as they had high tailed it out of there, somehow General Mendofa's men had been incredibly lousy shots.

"We were betrayed," Hawke confided on a soft sigh.

"You don't say …."

"Actually Dom, we were well and truly hoodwinked. Everyone, including Archangel and the Firm …."

"We were set up? They knew we were coming …." Santini gasped out in incredulity now, knowing that his young friend was right .

"They let us take Nimbani …. They let us get just enough of a head start to think that we were in the clear …. And then they killed him. That's what they'd planned all along, and I'm guessing here that they were only aiming to wound us so that we could escape and prove to the world that Nimbani was dead, like you said."

"Not quite …. "Hawke spoke in a low voice, reluctant to disabuse Santini of his notion that they had somehow been spared, that it hadn't just been their own tenacity and incredible good luck that had helped them to escape with their lives, when in his opinion, he felt sure that they had indeed been meant to die on the border between Kembala and Cimbawe, so that there would be no witnesses to contradict General Mendofa's version of the facts.

"That's the thing Dom, the guy we hauled across half of Africa and almost got our tushes shot off to save, _**wasn't**_ Robert Nimbani."

"What? How do you know that?"

"Because Mack and Father Paddy told me. They know Robert Nimbani. He's been here …. Visiting family. I didn't want to believe it at first, but it's true," Hawke let out a deep, shoulder raising sigh, then winced as he felt the tightness and pain radiating out of his shoulder.

"I figure maybe Mr Nimbani worked out way ahead of time that his life was in danger, and so he used what ever power and influence he still had to get himself out of there before the General could swipe him, or maybe it went down like they originally told us, that Nimbani was arrested and thrown in jail, and maybe his own people did succeed in getting him out of there …. " Hawke mused.

"Remember Michael told us that they had tried before, twice. Well, maybe they succeeded, and with his rival's sudden disappearance the General came up with the story that he had been placed under arrest, for treason or something like that, and because of the threat of civil unrest and to national security, was being held in a secure location until such a time as a fair trial could be organised. He had to keep up the pretence, maintain the illusion, because if anyone had learned that the guy wasn't Nimbani …."

Hawke's voice trailed away then, and Santini spent the interim silence digesting Hawke's supposition and coming to the conclusion that it wasn't a million miles wide of the mark.

"Archangel wants us to try to find Robert Nimbani and to persuade him to go back with us, to go to the UN as planned …."

"And what are we supposed to do for our next trick? The guy's Houdini for crying out loud and this is a very very _**very**_ big continent, String …."

"I know that, Dom, but we caught a break. Mack thinks the King of the local tribe here might know where Nimbani is. They're distant cousins or something …. She asked Father Paddy to go to the village and ask the King if he knows whether Nimbani is alive, and if so, where he might be holed up."

"And he's just gonna 'fess up? He's gonna tell a bunch of strangers where to find his cousin, just like that?"

"They do seem to have a good relationship, the tribe and the people here at the Mission. Mack believes that he will help us, if he can …."

"Then I suppose we just have to place our faith in the good Padre …."

"Right gentlemen, time's up …." Mackenzie Jarvis came breezing back into Santini's room then, closely followed by Sister Eve, who immediately set about straightening Santini's covers and plumping up his pillows, and before Hawke had time to protest, Mack was turning his wheelchair around and pushing him back out into the corridor beyond.

By the time Mackenzie Jarvis, assisted by Sister Eve, had helped Stringfellow Hawke back into bed and checked his observations, Hawke knew that Mack was right about his physical condition.

He made a mild protest when Mackenzie reached out to take the loaded hypodermic from Sister Eve, and then watched with silent resignation as she swiftly dispensed the sedative into the cannula in his arm.

It was potent and fast acting stuff, Hawke found himself thinking groggily, as he fought to keep his eyes open just a little longer, not wanting to lose sight of Mackenzie Jarvis, who after smiling her gratitude to Sister Eve as she left the room, checked on the fresh bags of IV fluids and antibiotics she had hung once Hawke was settled in bed and then pulled up the chair beside him and took his hand gently in her own.

"Will you just relax, and quit fighting it," she told him softly. "You really will feel much better after a good long sleep, String. You've got to give your body a chance to heal, and being obstinate and stubborn and mule headed won't help right now."

Mackenzie watched him continue his battle for a few minutes more, his thumb nail lazily stroking the back of her hand and his beautiful blue eyes never leaving her face, and she at last began to realise why he was struggling against the drug.

He thought that once he closed his eyes, succumbed to slumber, she would disappear like a phantom into the night ….

_**Poor baby ….**_

With her heart in her mouth, so deeply touched was she, Mackenzie Jarvis watched as his eyes finally fluttered closed, his breathing evening out, and she was just about to release his hand and leave him to his slumbers, when suddenly he tightened his grip on her hand and his eyes flew wide open in panic.

"Mack!"

"I'm here, String," she reassured, squeezing his hand gently in return, watching his eyelids growing heavier and heavier, fluttering closed once more.

"Remember what I said …."

His speech was getting slurred, but still he fought against the sedative, and again his eyes flew open and he pinned his beautiful, bright blue eyes on her face.

"I don't care if we do live on different continents, and have crazy and complicated lives, my love. We have to make it work. We have to find some middle ground …. Meet each other half way …."

"Yes, darling, except that for us, any middle ground, meeting each other half way, would put us somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic ocean!" She chuckled softly, amazed that he could still think so clearly under the influence of the sedative, especially as she had given him enough to knock out a herd of elephants.

"Then I'll build us a damned island …." He slurred drunkenly.

"Sure you will, darling," she cooed, watching his eyelids growing heavier and heavier until finally they fluttered closed, this time remaining closed as his breathing grew deep and even and regular.

"Sure you will, my love. Our own regular Garden of Eden," she grinned, and then rose gracefully from her seat and leaned carefully over the bed so that she could press a soft kiss to his warm and slightly parted lips.

"Sweet dreams, Stringfellow …."

She smiled gently down at him, suspecting from the rather self satisfied smile that now curved at his lips, that his dreams were indeed already much more pleasant than of recent days.

"I'll still be here when you wake up, darling," she promised, bringing her right index and middle fingers up to her lips, kissing them softly then pressed them to his dear, stubble covered cheek. "I love you, yank …."

"Love you too, Limey …." He responded in a very low, very sleepy sounding voice, eyes still closed but obviously still vaguely aware of what was going on around him. "I love you too …."

After leaving orders with Sister Eve to continue twenty minute observations on both Stringfellow Hawke and Dominic Santini, and strict instructions to let her know if Hawke's temperature rose by even half a degree, Mackenzie Jarvis smiled her farewell to Sister Eve as she exited the Infirmary and made her way across the complex courtyard to the Church, needing sanctuary and a quite place to think.

Father Paddy, she knew would not be back for a while yet, indeed, she suspected that it would be another long night of just having to watch and wait, only this time it would not be so angst ridden.

Mackenzie also knew that she would have to warn Sister Eve about what to expect when Father Paddy did return, for she suspected that the only way to extract the information that Hawke needed from King Joami, would be to get him to relax and drop his guard, and the only way the wily old goat would do that was if Father Paddy joined him in the celebrations for the new arrivals.

_**It was a dirty job, but someone had to do ….**_

She thought wryly, imagining the kind of hang over the good Father would have when he woke up, because the tribe's native brew was potent and noxious stuff.

The only alcohol they kept at the Mission was purely for medicinal purposes, and for religious services like communion, because any other kind simply evaporated in the heat, and any way Father Paddy and the Sisters had vowed to a life of abstinence and for the ladies at least, that also included alcohol.

Mackenzie herself had never acquired a taste for it, finding that she disliked the sensation of not quite being in control when she had more than the occasional glass of wine.

The only time she had ever seen Father Paddy imbibe was when they stayed with Father Kincaid in Nairobi, and they both accepted a glass of wine with the dinner he always thoughtfully provided for them, and bless him, it always went straight to his head.

Joami's home brew, the gut rotting 'hooch' that was produced at feasts and celebrations, had put many a warrior in her hospital with the symptoms of alcohol poisoning over the years, and she had even been tempted to try to get it analysed, but had always chickened out in the end fearing that it was highly combustible and might end up blowing up her lab.

She didn't know how it was made, and did not care to find out, and no matter how many times she tried to persuade the otherwise enlightened Joami that it was dangerous, he would only smile and tell her that some traditions were sacrosanct and he would never give up.

Like having a harem full of nubile young wives ….

And his favourite tipple!

Poor Father Paddy, with the King celebrating the birth of twin boys, a double blessing that would enrich his life and his treasury no doubt, it was probably going to be a long night, and she found herself hoping that he would at least pace himself.

The stuff would probably put him flat on his back, and the least he could look forward to was a week of feeling as sick as a dog.

Still, a whole Nation's future was at stake.

And of course, Father Paddy would receive his reward in heaven.

And, he would also be better able to sermonise about the evils of drink, she thought with genuine amusement, having experienced them for himself.

_**Ah, Father, the Lord does indeed work in mysterious ways ….**_

And while we're on the subject, Heavenly Father ….

I hope you are pleased with your handiwork?

Because I am.

_**Thank you.**_

_**Thank you.**_

_**Thank you ….**_


	10. Chapter 10

_REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

Chapter Ten

Wednesday morning.

"Oh my …." Sister Eve and Mackenzie Jarvis regarded Father Patrick Callaghan with less than sympathetic eyes as the elderly cleric walked a little unsteadily into the Sister Superior's office and sank down in the tan wingback leather chair with a sigh.

He wore a woebegone expression and was holding his head very gingerly, Mackenzie Jarvis noticed, and she knew that he must be feeing pretty wretched right about now.

"I hope you didn't drink and drive …." She chuckled, knowing the answer already, glad that he had decided to remain in the village over night and had not tried to find his way back here in the dark, sober or not.

"Making fun of other people's misfortune is not one of your most endearing traits, my child …." The elderly priest spoke through clenched teeth and fixed very bleary and very red rimmed eyes on the doctor, and again she had to struggle not to laugh out loud. "And frankly doctor, it's beneath you."

"I'm sorry, Father."

"So how is the old reprobate?" Sister Eve asked now, rising from her desk to reach out and pour the priest a cup of coffee from the pot she had made only a few minutes before, when the sharp eyed Sister Clementine had hurried in to tell them that she had spotted Father Paddy, looking a little the worse for wear, sat astride his favourite mule, Marigold, weaving haphazardly as they made slow, plodding progress back toward the Mission.

Despite his renewed confidence in his driving skills, Mackenzie Jarvis had been relieved to discover that he had elected to take Marigold instead of the flatbed truck, and that had also been her first indication that Father Paddy had known exactly what he was heading into and what would be expected of him.

"Feeling no pain this morning, I suspect," Father Paddy winced, as though the sound of his own voice was much too loud for him to cope with, and pain shot through his head, exploding from behind his eyeballs.

"Unlike you …." Sister Eve smiled indulgently at him as she handed him his coffee.

"Drink up, Father, and I'll find you some Aspirin in a minute …." Mackenzie Jarvis shared an amused look with Sister Eve and Father Paddy glowered at the pair of them, obviously put out that they were enjoying his discomfort so much.

"No pain, no gain, Father …." Mackenzie grinned.

"Well come on then, I know you're dying to ask …." Father Paddy invited, taking a sip of the hot coffee, gulping it down because burning his mouth was the least of his worries.

"Was Joami able to help us?"

"After several bottles of that poison he has the gall to call 'mother's milk' he would have told me where he hides his crown jewels …." Father Paddy confided with a ghost of a smile, then subsiding back into the chair and resting his head back against the ancient, dry and cracked leather, closed his eyes.

"Holy Mother, that stuff should come with a health warning …. "

"I hope _**you **_didn't have 'several bottles …." Mackenzie Jarvis was slightly alarmed at the prospect. "I don't want to have to pump your stomach, Father …." And now she was only half joking.

"Perish the thought, child," he emitted a miserable groan. "No, I had one glass, and sipped it for most of the night, after all I've seen what the stuff can do. Joami has some tolerance for it after all these years, but I get tipsy opening the communal wine ..."

"So, Father?"

"Oh yes, child, yes, patience, please …."

Father Paddy gave another little groan of misery then forced his eyes open so that he could reach out to take another sip of coffee, moving very gingerly, as though he feared his head might just roll of his shoulders.

"It's a virtue that you need to put a little work into, my dear …."

Father Paddy set down his cup and leaned his head back against the weathered old leather armchair and let out a deep sigh, raising his fingers to rub gently at his temples and fought not to give into a long, loud yawn.

"I thought I was going to be there for days before that stuff loosened the old devil's tongue …."

"So? Does Joami know where Robert Nimbani is?"

"Of course he does, child, but I'm not sure if the knowing will do your Mr Hawke any good …."

Thursday morning.

"Voila …." Mackenzie Jarvis removed the small plate from the top of the bowl she had set before Stringfellow Hawke with a flourish. "Sister Eve tells me that you are a vegetarian …." She eyed her patient with more than a hint of amusement as he glowered at the lump of oatmeal sitting in the middle of the dish before him.

"I can assure you that no animals were harmed in the making of this repast," she chuckled as the expression on his face told her clearly that he was less than impressed with the offering.

"Beggars can't be choosers around here, Mr Hawke, you get the same fare we all do …." She told him haughtily. "I know it's not very appetising for your first real meal, but it will fill a hole, and if you're a good boy and eat it all down, you will soon get strong again …."

He was looking much better today, she noted, brighter too, well rested, his eyes much more alert and alive, his colour much improved and all his vital signs were well within normal ranges now.

Thanks no doubt to the sedative that she had given to him, which had ensured that he got eight hours of undisturbed sleep, and, she knew that he had dozed on and off throughout the remainder of the day, because he had been napping when she had looked in on him once or twice, and, according to his notes, he had finally succumbed to a natural slumber around midnight.

All in all he was doing well.

He was lucky to be blessed with such an iron constitution.

And he was obviously feeling better too, grouching at the staff about being confined to bed and not being able to look in on Dominic Santini, who had spent the best part of five minutes grumbling to her about exactly the same thing only fifteen minutes before.

It was always a good sign, Mackenzie found herself thinking, when they wanted to get up and at 'em.

"Well?" he asked her now, nudging the congealed glob of oatmeal with his spoon and wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Yes, thank you. Sweet of you to ask," she grinned back at him most becomingly and he rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation.

He was still peeved that she had used her knock out drops to keep him doped for almost a whole day, and now he couldn't wait to hear what Father Paddy had discovered on his trip to the village.

"Cute, Mack …. Real cute, I think we're going to have to work on our communication a little …." He grumbled, laying down his spoon, his appetite suddenly deserting him. "Did Father Paddy learn anything helpful?"

"You mean aside from the fact that he can't hold his booze?"

"What?"

"It's a long story …." She grinned. "The long and short of which, is, yes, and no …."

"For crying out, Mack …."

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger. The truth of it is, yes, Father Paddy found out that Robert Nimbani is alive and that he was last seen about three weeks ago, in Tutuoami's village …."

"Tutuoami?"

"Joami's youngest brother," she explained patiently, noting the disappointment in his lovely blue eyes and knowing that it wasn't exactly what he had wanted to hear. "He's the chief of another branch of the tribe …."

"Three weeks?"

Just about the time Archangel had come to him with this cockamamie plan ….

Hawke thought sourly.

So their Intel had been out of date, or just plain hogwash from the very start ….

"Yes. I'm sorry. He's most likely moved on by now, String. He could have gone to ground just about anywhere …."

"Damn …."

Hawke let out a ragged sigh and pushed the bowl of oatmeal away.

"We still have to check it out. Someone in the village might know something …. How far away is this Tutuoami's village?"

"About one hundred and fifty miles as the crow flies."

A puddle jump in Airwolf, but ….

Winged as he was, he knew that he wouldn't be taking the Lady up any time soon.

But maybe, just maybe he could persuade Mackenzie to allow Dominic to take them up ….

"Oh no, no you don't, mister …." She warned him now, clearly able to see the cogs working in his mind. "Forget it. Neither you nor Mr Santini are fit enough to fly anywhere."

"But it would only be a five minute trip in Airwolf …."

"Airwolf? Oh, you mean the behemoth?" he nodded. "I don't care if it's only thirty seconds, you are grounded, mister. Look at you for heavens sake, you hardly have the strength to lift that spoon to your lips …."

"Mack, we can't waste any more time. The sooner we get to Nimbani and try to persuade him to come back to the States with me and Dom, the sooner Kembala will be free. If we leave it much longer, no one will believe that he really is alive, they'll say it's some kind of trick …." He protested, and despite her misgivings, Mackenzie Jarvis knew that he was right.

They needed to strike while the iron was still hot, or it would all be for nothing.

"Look, if I can't do it, at least consider giving Dom the thumbs up? Please?"

"I wish I could …."

Her voice trailed away as she suddenly had the wildest thought, and it must have shown on her face, for now Hawke was staring at her, not only in irritation, but with curiosity too.

"There is one other alternative," she let out a ragged breath now, in two minds about what she was about to suggest.

"Right now I'm ready to listen to anything you might think is helpful."

"I could fly us," she whispered, wondering why she hadn't thought about it before.

They could take the Dakota, after all, it was almost time for her to make her usual three monthly trip, to check on the villagers and run a few clinics.

"What?" Hawke's eyes almost popped out of his head.

"I could fly us," she repeated a little more confidently now, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth to chew on it thoughtfully.

"I have an old Dakota I use for visiting the outlying villages and for supply runs to Nairobi …."

She explained, watching the astonishment on Hawke's face turn into real appreciation and then genuine pleasure at the thought that she shared his passion for flying.

"It's an old Douglas DC-3 Dakota …."

"You have a pilot's licence?" Hawke cut her off then threw her a look of apology for his abruptness.

"Sure."

"Since when?"

"Since I got the flying bug after working for a certain Dominic Santini .… and I learned all about the RFDS … The Royal Flying Doctors Service of Australia, and had a burning desire to become the flying nun …." She chuckled.

"What's your certification? Fixed wing and instruments?"

"Yes," she grew wary now, wondering where he was going with this, and not liking the answer she was suddenly getting back. "I have a private pilots licence …."

She could see from the expression on his face that he fully understood what that meant, that she was certified to fly practically anything that was capable of getting off the ground under its own steam, just as he was, and that he really was genuinely impressed.

"And instrument rating …."

"What about choppers?" He again cut her off.

"Sure …." She confirmed then stopped dead in her tracks, gazing back at him with a look of shock on her lovely face. "I qualified, although I don't have much actual experience …. Air time …."

"Then we can still take the puddle jumper. You in the right seat, Dom in the left, just to supervise, and me in back …." Hawke grinned, hardly able to believe that he was actually lying here contemplating allowing someone else to pilot Airwolf, aside from himself and Dominic Santini. "We'll be there and back in no time …."

"No …. I couldn't …." She protested, her stomach doing a flip-flop against her spine at the very thought of taking the controls of that magnificent machine.

"Yes you can. You'll be fine," Hawke assured, hoping that he was right, but knowing that they really didn't have any other choice.

They needed answers, and they needed them fast.

"String, please, don't ask …."

"You'll be fine, Mack. Piece of cake. She's a real pussy cat," he smiled reassuringly at her now. "C'mon Mack, most guys wouldn't trust their girlfriends with their car keys …."

"String, I've been inside that monster, remember, I've seen …."

_**Yes ….**_

Hawke thought sourly,

He could guess what she had seen, and knew that she was smart enough to guess what all those switches and buttons were for.

"You'll only have to use the flight controls, Mack. Nothing else," He assured her. "Cyclic, stick, rudder, brake …. And all you need worry about is torque, altitude, airspeed, keeping her nose up …. And Dom and I will be with you …" He cajoled now.

Mackenzie Jarvis drew in a ragged breath, as she supposed that she should be flattered that he would trust her.

That he would place his confidence in her.

"Mack?" He appealed to her now, with all the love he felt for her blazing in his eyes and she was genuinely touched at his faith in her, the huge compliment that he was paying her ….

Thinking about the magnificent helicopter secreted in the barn, and recalling the way she had moved, her grace, elegance, power ….

And then she recalled the weapons systems, the firepower concealed within, and knew that this was indeed no ordinary helicopter, and that he would be taking a huge risk in letting her take the controls ….

Something he probably would not even contemplate if it wasn't a matter of life and death ….

"Mack?"

"Do I have a choice?"

As she gazed back at him, Hawke could see the myriad of emotions coursing through her.

Fear, insecurity, self doubt ….

Terror.

And then, at last, something else.

The one thing he had hoped to see.

Mackenzie Jarvis' expression changed, as she drew in a deep breath and drew her self up, straightening her back, throwing back her shoulders as her chin rose in defiance, and he knew that she had made her decision.

_**Just what this family needs …. **_

He found himself thinking wryly.

_**Someone else who can't overlook the opportunity to prove themselves and rise to a challenge**_.

_**That's my girl, Mack. I knew you wouldn't let me down ….**_


	11. Chapter 11

_REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

Chapter Eleven

Friday Morning.

"I hope you know what you're doing, String …." Dominic Santini grouched as he struggled to put his foot in the other pants leg of his newly laundered and neatly mended Airwolf flight suit.

The look on his face told Stringfellow Hawke that the older man was recalling how long it had taken before he had asked _**him**_ to fly Airwolf.

"Look at us, Dom. Mack's right, we can't take her up by ourselves," Hawke reasoned, watching as Santini hitched up his pants now and secured them with a belt around his middle, mindful of the strapping that Mackenzie Jarvis had insisted on winding around his midriff.

"You sure she can handle the Lady?"

"I know that once we're airborne, _**you **_can take over, if she can't handle it, but I'd really appreciate it if you kept that to yourself, Dominic. Mack's up tight enough as it is …." Hawke sighed ruefully. "I know it's not ideal, but I had to think of something fast …." He confided now. "And she doesn't need anything else to dent her confidence right now."

"Ah, String …."

"Dom, it's a twenty minute round trip. What can happen?"

"You don't even want to go there, kid …."

"Look Dom, we have to get answers for Archangel, and the longer we sit here counting the cracks in the ceiling, the more chance Robert Nimbani will disappear into the desert for good," Hawke pointed out in irritation now, growing weary of his old friend's procrastination and cynicism.

"I guess the sooner we get it done, the sooner we can go home …." Santini sighed then noted the strange look that suddenly crossed Hawke's face and wondered what that was all about.

He suddenly had a feeling that he knew exactly what was at the root of it.

A certain lady doctor with flashing green eyes and a bone melting smile that's what!

"String …."

"Dom?"

"You and Mack …. Not that I don't think its swell and an' all …. But …. How's that gonna work, do you think?"

"I don't know …. But I'm damned well going to make sure it does," And from the tone of his voice, Santini did not doubt the younger man's sincerity.

Still, he couldn't help thinking that he had set himself a mountain to climb, after all they lived on different sides of the world, and Santini couldn't see Mack walking away from her life here in Zarundi, any more than he could see Hawke giving up Airwolf and his crusade to find St John, or the cabin up at Eagle Lake ….

_**Why was nothing ever simple and straight forward with this kid? **_

Santini silently lamented.

_**Always having to do things the hardest of the hard way ….**_

_**Oh well, they do say that where there's a will, there's a way ….**_

Lord knows it was about time the young fella found himself a nice girl to settle down and raise a family with, to keep him out of trouble, and if Mackenzie Jarvis was that girl, then terrific, he, Dominic Santini would welcome her into the fold with open arm ...

But ….

With Hawke's track record ….

_**Now you're doing it too, you old fool! There ain't no such thing as a jinx!**_

Santini found himself admiring the younger man for his ability to finally put those ludicrous notions about being jinxed where love was concerned out of his mind, but he couldn't help thinking that it was just so like him to fall for a gal who lived about a squillion miles away, instead of settling for Mary Jo from down the strip, the gal with the sexy wiggle to her hips when she walked, who delivered Elliott's janitorial supplies twice a month!

He admired the young man's ability to love, and his tenacity, but ….

_**Enough!**_

_**You find love where you can old man, and be grateful for it, even if it is on another continent, across a very wide and very deep ocean!**_

Good luck to them both, they deserved any chance for happiness that came their way ….

Still, he found himself hoping that they weren't both setting themselves up for a mighty fall.

"C'mon Dom, let's not keep the ladies waiting …."

"See, I told you there was nothing to worry about. You're a natural …."

Stringfellow Hawke's praise was genuine and he found himself smiling triumphantly at the back of Mackenzie Jarvis' head, as she sat at Airwolf's controls, Dominic Santini seated beside her, watching every gauge and dial with an eagle eye, but even he was impressed with Mackenzie's skill and control, Hawke could tell, from the relaxed way he had his hands cupped in his lap, instead of hovering anxiously over the controls in front of him.

After half an hour of sitting on the ground, familiarizing Mack with the flight controls and gently quizzing her to ensure that she knew what she was doing, Hawke and Santini had finally agreed that she was ready to take Airwolf up for a nice gentle milk run to the far flung corners of the Kingdom of Zarundi.

Sitting rigidly in the pilot's seat, her terror evident in the way she was holding her self, and the tremor in her hand as she grasped the stick, Mackenzie Jarvis had gently lifted Airwolf up off the ground.

"That's right, nice and gentle …. Don't snatch, just nice, smooth even moves …." Santini had encouraged. "Watch your torque ... Airspeed …. You're doing fine …."

"So why do I feel like I'm getting my first driving lesson with my Dad?" She had hissed over the microphone in her helmet and this had raised a smile from both men. "Relax guys. _**You're**_ the one's making me nervous …."

Soon Mackenzie had started to relax, obviously gaining a little more confidence in her ability to handle the magnificent helicopter, and Hawke had soon found that there was little for him to do but sit back and enjoy the ride.

Being in the rear avionics bay was a new experience for him. He had to admit that he would have been happier up front, but with his left shoulder still heavily strapped, there was no way he could have gotten Airwolf off the ground.

He knew that the simple truth of it was that he just didn't like not being the one in control.

He sensed that Dominic Santini felt the same way.

At least Dom had the added bonus of being able to see the scenery, Hawke thought wryly. Stuck here in the back seat all he could see was the top of the instrument panel, the backs of Mack's and Dom's helmet encased heads and a small patch of pristine blue sky through the windshield.

"We're nearly there, guys," Mackenzie Jarvis finally announced, making a slight adjustment to her grip on the stick as she eased Airwolf into a right bank, eased her nose down gently and swooped in low over a clump of ancient, gnarled, spindly trees to come in low over a patch of flat, uneven ground.

"That's the airstrip," Mackenzie pointed out, easing Airwolf's nose down even more to make a slow, controlled descent, eyes flicking between instruments and the ground below as she remembered to lower the landing gear as she brought Airwolf down for a nice soft landing.

"The village is about a half a mile away," she concluded as Airwolf settled gently onto the compact desert sand and she let out a deep sigh of relief that the first part of their journey was over as she reached up to turn off the power switches over head. "You guys had better stay here, out of the heat …."

"No way!" Santini and Hawke protested in unison. "We're coming with you Mack, and no arguments."

"Ok, ok, settle down guys. I just meant that I would go and see how things were in the village before you wasted your energy on trekking through this heat," she clarified a little sharply, reminding them both that they weren't exactly firing on all cylinders just yet.

"And before we go anywhere, I'd better set you straight on a few things," she gave a soft sigh as she reached up to pull off her helmet which was stifling her, and waited for Santini and Hawke to follow her lead.

"First, these people are not savages. They may be primitive and live their lives in remote isolation, abiding by ancient traditions, but they are not savages. They haven't eaten anyone for at least six months, to my knowledge …."

She chuckled at the pained look that Dominic Santini was suddenly aiming at her, his wide rheumy grey eyes the only real feature visible through his helmet and all she got from Hawke was a low groan.

"Just what this family needs …. Another clown …." Santini growled.

"All I'm saying is, it's 1984, not 1884, and Chief Tutuoami is not some hick from the backwoods you can steam roller. He's a man of power and influence, of Royal blood, and he was educated in the west, at Oxford no less, the first member of his family to graduate from college. All I'm saying is, don't treat him like a fool."

"Fine," Hawke and Santini agreed.

"You'd better let me go into the village first, to lay down some ground work. They're not unfriendly, but they can be a little suspicious of strangers."

"Ok," both men agreed again, although she could hear the hint of reluctance in Hawke's voice and found it touching.

She suspected that he was the one who was used to meeting danger head on, and that it was his natural instinct to stand between danger and the people that he loved.

"Good. One other thing …. Robert Nimbani is a good man, gentlemen, and a wise one, but you may have to accept that we walk way from here today empty handed. I've learned that in dealing with people like him, sometimes you have to plant the seed of the idea in their minds, and then walk away and wait for it to germinate, allow them to think that they came up with the idea all on their own …."

"Fine, so let's go do a little cultivating …."

"Stay here, guys, I'll let you know when it's safe to come on in to the village," Mackenzie Jarvis advised, brushing a wisp of hair back behind her ear and squinting in the brightness of the sun, as, after first offering it to her, Dominic Santini took a swig of water from the canteen he had fastened to his belt, then offered it to Hawke.

They had walked slowly from the airstrip, acutely aware of curious, suspicious eyes watching their approach as they grew nearer to the native village, but Mackenzie Jarvis' stride was confident and assured, although she kept her pace slow and even in deference to the fact that Santini and Hawke were not fully fit yet, and by the time they reached the outskirts of the village, both men were sweating profusely, and Dominic Santini was breathing a little harder than she would have liked, obviously suffering from the exertion and the heat.

Silently, Hawke watched as Mackenzie Jarvis walked off alone, her long strides eating up the ground between her and the cluster of native huts, and when she was half way to her destination, a man emerged from the nearest hut to her left, and trotted up to greet her.

To Hawke and Santini's surprise, the man was clad in western garb, light weight khaki pants and a striped T-Shirt, with leather thong sandals on his feet.

Hawke and Santini glanced at each other and each knew what the other was thinking, and grinned.

_**1984, not 1884.**_

What had they expected? Leopard skins and spears?

The man approaching Mackenzie suddenly stopped before her and bowed deeply from the waist in a respectful greeting and Mackenzie Jarvis bowed back before falling in beside him, matching his long stride as they walked toward the largest of the huts in the centre of the village.

Mackenzie ducked her head and followed the man inside and was gone for several long and extremely anxious moments, during which Stringfellow Hawke kept casting furtive glances between the hut and Dominic Santini, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot, and then suddenly Mack was coming back out into the sunlight, and Hawke let out a deep sigh of relief.

"Uh oh …." Santini sighed. "That don't look good …."

He indicated to where Mack was engaged in a very animated conversation with a different man now, clad in jeans and a light weight pale blue shirt, and it was indeed clear that something had perturbed the usually calm and placid medic.

"I wonder what that's all about …."

"We'll soon find out," Hawke sighed again, watching as the man ducked back inside the hut and Mackenzie Jarvis turned on her heel and came walking back toward them slowly, something odd about the set of her shoulders and her general bearing, Hawke noted immediately.

"Mack?" Hawke greeted her with a penetrating look, reaching out to take the canteen from Santini and offering it to her, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the perspiration now beading on her brow and the unusual sparkle in her eyes.

"Robert Nimbani was here …."

She accepted the canteen and took a small sip of the cool, refreshing water, using her other hand to blot at the perspiration on her brow as she swallowed, then replaced the cap and handed it back to Hawke, noting, as she did so, the disappointment on his face as he registered her use of the past tense.

Mackenzie let out a deep sigh, knowing that he wasn't going to like what she had learned.

"I'm sorry, String. Robert Nimbani is dead."

"What?"

"Tutuoami just told me that he died from a fever, about a week ago," she grew irritated now. "I can't believe he didn't let me know that there was sickness in the village. I might have been able to do something …." She seethed, tears glittering in her deep green eyes now, and it was clear to Hawke that she was indeed very upset at the thought that people had died when she might have been able to save them.

"It seems that the man you saved from that prison camp in Kembala was Robert Nimbani's chief body guard. Poor guy had only been there a few days, after they'd moved him from the city. He'd been with Nimbani in the prison in the capitol, biding their time until their people could organise a distraction so they could get Nimbani out. The body guard sacrificed himself so that Nimbani could get away, disguised himself as Nimbani so that no-one suspected until it was too late. But, it appears that at the time, both men were sick with a fever …. I'm guessing that it was the same fever that you had String …." She let out a ragged breath then.

"You were lucky. You've lived all your life in a country where there is excellent medical care, so you had good health to begin with. You keep yourself in good shape and you have a good immune system, and then, on top of that, you had the best medical care that I could give you …."

And even then it had been touch and go ….

"Mr Nimbani wasn't so fortunate, he had a heart condition, which was being controlled by medication, but, it would have complicated things. He succumbed to the fever about three days after arriving in the village, but not before infecting a dozen other people, four of whom have also since died," she explained solemnly, obviously trying to pull herself together now.

"Damn! It makes me so angry I could spit!" she suddenly exploded. "Such a waste. I could have helped them …." She railed.

"Mack …." Hawke reached to take her elbow in a gesture of comfort now.

"I think I'm doing so much good work out here, and then something like this happens, and they fall back on the old ways …."

"Mack …." He gave her elbow another squeeze and a soft, appealing look, and she let out another deep, ragged sigh, making an effort to get her emotions under control, knowing that her anger was futile and the energy expended in venting it a waste.

She suddenly recalled just how low on supplies they were back there at the Infirmary and knew that even if she had been called upon to help, it might not have made the slightest difference, without the drugs, antibiotics ….

The end result might just have been the same, and she would just have been left feeling wretched and guilty, helpless and full of grief at her failure.

"The village is still in mourning, and Tutuoami made it clear that he will not welcome strangers at this time …." She continued at last.

"Damn …." Hawke snarled.

"So that's that, I guess …." Santini added solemnly.

"But, I did learn something else from Tutuoami that might be of interest to you …."

"Go on …." Hawke invited, seeing something in her eyes now that offered him just a glimmer of hope.

"Robert Nimbani's son, Solomon is still here in the village …. One tradition I do agree with. They strictly observe a period of mourning, a whole month of prayer and contemplation. We're lucky. Another week or so and Solomon Nimbani would have been gone."

"What does that have to do with us?" Santini joined the conversation now, frowning.

"Think about it, Dom …." Hawke snapped impatiently then gave his old friend an apologetic look.

"Solomon Nimbani is every bit his father's son, and now he has an even greater reason for stepping into his father's shoes," Mackenzie Jarvis supplied the answer for Santini.

"Revenge."

"No, not revenge, String. A kind of righteous justification that his father gave his life for a good cause, that something positive has to come from it."

"Can we see him?"

"Not today, he's still in deep mourning, and I have to respect that, but I explained who you were and what you wanted, what you did, in the belief that it was Robert Nimbani you were trying to save, and I asked Tutuoami if he would explain that to Solomon and ask if he would see you before he moves on," she paused to draw in a gentle breath before continuing.

"It's also tradition for him to go and pay his respects to King Joami, break the news to him in person, so if he's willing to talk with you, I guess he'll come to the Mission."

"Then I guess we just have to wait and see."

The expression on Hawke's face told Mackenzie that he didn't like the situation, but that he accepted that for now, there was nothing more that he could do.

"At least it will give you guys a bit more time to heal, before you have to start thinking about which one of you is going to fly that behemoth of yours back home."

Reluctantly and with their disappointment and frustration evident in the set of their shoulder and their slow lethargic stride, the party turned away from the village and faced the prospect of the short walk back to Airwolf.

However they had not taken more than four steps when a loud shout suddenly rang out from the village behind them, and all three turned around quickly to find a group of men emerging from the Chief's hut.

Stringfellow Hawke quickly flicked his gaze toward Mack, seeking some kind of reassurance that the Chief hadn't suddenly decided to fill his cooking pot and stock his larder, that they were not going to find themselves under attack and she gave him a genuine smile of reassurance when she saw the suspicion and anxiety in his eyes.

Shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun Mackenzie quickly scanned the group of men who were now walking slowly and purposefully toward Airwolf's crew, recognizing Chief Tutuoami and a couple of his warriors, and as she squinted and tried to get a better look at each man's individual features, she suddenly found herself gazing into a very familiar face.

"Guys, do either of you have any Irish blood?"

"Huh?" Dominic Santini frowned, shuffling uncomfortably in the heat and wondering if he was going to have to start running again any minute now.

"I think your luck just changed," Mackenzie chuckled. "It seems that the mountain has decided to come to Mohammad …."

A wide smile suddenly illuminated Mackenzie's face and she turned fully around now and began to walk slowly toward the approaching group of men.

Hawke and Santini cast wary glances at each other, Hawke raising his eyebrow in query, and then they too were turning and following Mackenzie.

As he drew up beside her, Mackenzie Jarvis slipped her arm protectively and possessively around Stringfellow Hawke's waist and drew him closer to her self, and the group.

_**Staking her claim? **_

Hawke thought smugly, then realised that her actions were very deliberate, showing the tribesmen that he was someone that she knew and trusted, that he was someone close to her, part of her tribe …. Her family …. Letting them know that they should treat him with the same respect that they had always shown to her.

"Stringfellow Hawke, I would like you to meet Chief Tutuoami …." She indicated to the man that Hawke had seen exiting the hut with her a few moments before. Standing on either side of him were two solemn faced older men with wary and suspicious eyes whom Mack introduced as tribal elders, but whose names immediately escaped Hawke, as she was then drawing his attention to an attractive younger man with silky ebony skin and open, innocent features and dark striking eyes.

There was no denying his air of quiet authority as he stood tall and straight, meeting Hawke's curious gaze with equal curiosity.

"And this, is Mr Solomon Nimbani …."

Hawke automatically offered the young man his hand in greeting, waiting to see how Mack would react, to see if he had committed some social faux pas, but the young Mr Nimbani quickly reached out to accept the offered hand and shook it enthusiastically.

"Mr Hawke, my cousin Chief Tutuoami explained to me what our beloved doctor told him of your …. Exploits."

If Hawke was surprised by the surprisingly melodic and cultured English accent that the younger man possessed, he hid it well, recalling once again what Mack had told him about these people and that he should not pre-judge them because of where they lived and how they were forced to live.

He also suddenly felt a flash of pride in Mackenzie Jarvis. She was obviously well respected by these people, even if fear sometimes drove them back to ancient and familiar ways of dealing with sickness and death.

"And," Nimbani continued. "Despite the fact that we are in deep mourning here, Mr Hawke, I knew that I could not simply let you leave without thanking you for what you did."

"I'm sorry about your father …." Hawke offered with genuine regret now. "And I wish things had worked out differently…."

"The man you tried to save, Mr Hawke, he was my Uncle, my Father's oldest brother."

Now Hawke began to understand a little better.

General Mendofa had obviously decided that if he couldn't have Robert Nimbani himself, then he could perhaps use his brother to manipulate Nimbani into dropping his opposition to his regime, and into dropping out of the Presidential election, but if Nimbani failed to co-operate, and if his brother had looked sufficiently like Robert Nimbani, Mendofa had reasoned that he could perhaps get away with tricking the people into believing that the dead man, killed while fleeing from a failed, American backed coup, was indeed his arch rival in the race for the Presidency, knowing that to deny it, Robert Nimbani would have to break cover, and make himself a target once more.

"He believed passionately in what my Father was trying to do for our country, so I know that he too died for something he believed in," Solomon Nimbani concluded and it was easy to see the grief in his dark eyes now.

Stringfellow Hawke nodded softly, fully able to comprehend the younger man's pain at losing half of his family in one fell swoop.

"Please, come in out of the sun and we shall talk …." Nimbani invited and then turned to bark out something indistinguishable and guttural to the Chief, obviously the local dialect, and Hawke felt Mack tighten her arm around his waist and turned to face her, suddenly finding him self looking into her lovely green eyes, which were filled with love and pride, and something else that tugged at his heart.

Sorrow.

She was a smart girl, he found himself thinking as he gazed back at her, pinning what he hoped was a smile of reassurance on his own face.

She knew that with this sudden development, he and Dominic Santini were a step closer to completing their mission, and that to do so, it would mean their leaving this incredible place.

Maybe forever.

"Did we just get invited to lunch?" he asked out of the side of his mouth as the group of tribesmen turned around and began to make their way regally back through the village to the Chief's hut.

"Lunch, dinner …. A veritable feast fit for a king, my love. You are a hero and they mean to treat you as such," she beamed at him, quashing the sudden pang of fear and anxiety that had flashed through her a moment before.

_**This**_ was what he was really here for. She reminded herself.

_**This**_ was his job, and he needed to know that he could get on with it without offending her or upsetting her having to be wary of her feelings.

He was going to have to leave, sometime.

It was inevitable, she knew that, but Solomon Nimbani's obvious willingness to meet with Hawke, to talk with him, had made her realise that he would probably have to leave sooner than she had hoped.

She was going to have to relinquish her hold, let him go.

Cast him back out into the real world, and hope that he was sincere about the way that he felt for her, and that when the time was right, he would find his way back to her.

"You sure we're not on the menu?" Dominic Santini quipped, smothering a grin as he watched the tender, protective, possessive and loving way Mackenzie Jarvis pulled Hawke too her and suddenly reached up to press a soft kiss to his rough cheek, then drew away from him slowly and reached up with obviously shaking fingers to stroke his cheek where she had just kissed him.

"Yeah, about that Mack, you'd better tell us what to expect. I wouldn't want to offend anyone by accident …." Hawke invited now as he and Mackenzie and Santini set off to follow Mr Nimbani and Chief Tutuoami into the largest hut.

"Worried about your table manners?" She chuckled, then realised that he was probably referring to his disinclination to eat meat and the possibility that he might offend someone by refusing to take even a bite.

"It will be fine, String, they're simple people with simple tastes and limited resources. You're in luck because they're diet is mostly vegetarian, like yours," she told him gently now.

"The land around here is a little more productive than Joami's home lands, so they have some kind of grain crop and vegetables and some fruit for most of the year," Mackenzie explained as they continued to walk.

"And they are able to exchange some of their produce with Joami and the other branch of the tribes. They exchange each of the things that they have that the other branches of the tribes don't. It's a sort of symbiotic relationship that allows the tribes to have their independence, but also maintain close ties through blood and trade …. It's also why they haven't had a tribal war in these parts since Victoria was on the throne …." She grinned.

"They soon learned that if they all had the same things, shared their individual bounties with the rest of the tribes, then they could all live much more peaceably, and for longer …. Just follow their lead, love, and you will be fine," she advised.

As they approached the hut at last Mackenzie disentangled herself from Hawke and she moved a little closer to the Chief, catching his eye, and Hawke watched with undisguised curiosity as she drew him to one side and spoke to him in low tones, also aware now of the curious faces peeping out of various huts, large, innocent eyes in dark faces warily watching the proceedings.

"What's that about?" Santini hissed out of the corner of his mouth at Hawke, glancing over to where Mack and the Chief were engaged in conversation.

"That's Mack being Mack, I guess …." Hawke sighed, thinking he knew what was going on, and then she was walking back to join him and Santini, just as they reached the entrance to the hut, and she took Hawke's hands in her own and smiled softly up at him.

"I'll see you in a little while, darling …."

Her eyes were twinkling prettily at him, glittering in the sun, and again Hawke could not believe his good fortune in having found this incredible woman after waiting for so long, nor just how deep his feelings went for her.

"You're not joining us?"

"No, love. You go do what you have to do. You don't need me, and frankly I don't think they'd be inclined to listen to anything a silly woman might have to say …."

"Even their beloved doctor?"

"Not in matters of politics and government and affairs of state," she flushed becomingly, flattered that he had caught the compliment from Solomon Nimbani.

"You are not a silly woman …."

"Bless you, I know that, but there are still some things that are sacred around here, Hawke …." She chuckled softly now. "You go do your job, and leave me to do mine. Ok?"

"Ok."

Hawke knew that she had brought her medical bag along with her, stored in the avionics bay in Airwolf. She had told him that if they had time she wanted to take a look at the villagers, especially the elderly, and the newly born, just to check them over and see if anyone needed her help, and now that she knew that there was, or had been sickness in the village, he could see that she was hungry to find out more.

This was, after all, what she did, why she was here.

It was what her life was all about, and Hawke knew that he could not stand in her way.

Mackenzie took the strange look on his face and the moment's silence that fell between them to mean that he was having some doubts about his diplomatic talents, and was wondering how he would cope if she wasn't there to bail him out of trouble with her greater knowledge and experience with these people.

_**Poor baby … **_

_**He was probably imaging himself being fed to the lions ….**_

"You'll be fine," she assured him gently. "Just be yourself."

"That's what he's worried about …." Dominic Santini gave a rueful sigh then and watched a sour expression cross Hawke's face briefly. "Honey, we only know one kind of diplomacy, him and me and it generally involves using our fists …." Santini chuckled.

"Then if that's what it takes …. These people _**are**_ warriors," she reminded and saw Hawke balk at the thought that he might just have to go through some rite of passage, some test or ritual to prove his strength and manhood, before Robert Nimbani's son would consider him worthy of talking to about the future of his country, his people.

Suddenly Mackenzie Jarvis was laughing, a wonderfully refreshing sound, relaxed and completely spontaneous, as she took in the complex mixture of emotions running the gamut across Hawke's face as he swallowed hard.

"Relax, String. I don't think you'll have to walk across burning embers, or wrestle a lion or anything like that," she giggled at the outrageous expression on Hawke's face.

"But promise me one thing, both of you," she turned to include Dominic Santini now. "Just don't drink the local moonshine, if you don't want me to have to pump your stomachs when we get home …."

"That bad huh?"

"Lethal."

"Gotta have me a glass of that then …." Santini chuckled, although he now recalled a brief conversation he had had with Father Paddy when he had kindly looked in on him. Santini had mentioned that the Priest looked a little jaded and the cleric had explained about the lengths he had had to go to to persuade the King of the Keoma tribe to part with the information that Hawke had needed.

"It will be alright, String," Mackenzie grew serious now, aware that Hawke was not amused by hers and Santini's antics.

He was taking this very seriously now, feeling the weight of the task he had been set, and the responsibility that came with it, and he was genuinely concerned that he would foul it up.

It was a heavy burden for a man of few words.

A man who was used to settling things with fists and chain guns and Strike missiles ….

He was keenly aware that the future of an entire Nation was at stake.

"These people already know that you are a man worthy of dealing with, Hawke. They already know that you are worthy of their respect."

"Because I'm with you," he sighed deeply.

"No, dolt, because of what you did for Kembala and Robert Nimbani," Mackenzie reached out now and lightly ran her fingers along his strong jaw, smiling tenderly at him, showing him that she had faith in him, that she knew that he would do his best.

"Now kids, get in there and play nice, don't throw your toys around and fall out over who get's to go first …."

Her voice trailed away as Hawke roughly pulled her to him and planted his lips firmly against hers in a very passionate kiss, his eyes blessing her for her support and her gentle humour, meant to relieve the strain he was feeling, when at last he drew away from her.

"I love you, Limey," he breathed raggedly, cupping her face briefly.

"I love you too, yank" she whispered back.

"Be careful," he told her with an earnest expression on his face.

"Always," she told him softly then carefully drew away from him and after reaching out to Dominic Santini and briefly giving his hand a squeeze, Mackenzie Jarvis turned on her heel and made her self walk way.

"C'mon, kid …. Time to get down to business …."

"Yeah, Dom …."

Although Hawke could not take his eyes off the receding figure of Mackenzie Jarvis as she strode confidently and purposefully through the village with Chief Tutoami at her side, fearless and determined in her drive to heal the sick.

Hawke's heart was suddenly in his mouth, his knees trembling and his stomach performing somersaults, but his sudden anxiety was not due to the prospect of negotiating with Solomon Nimbani, or the thought of wrestling with a crocodile if it came to that, but at the startling realisation of the enormity of the task he had set himself in finding a way to have a life with Mackenzie Jarvis.

It sounded so simple

He loved her.

She loved him.

_**And they both lived happily ever after ….**_

But in truth, it was far from simple, and he suddenly had no idea if there really was a way to make what he wanted become a reality.


	12. Chapter 12

_REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

Chapter Twelve.

One week later.

Stringfellow Hawke watched with genuine pleasure as his old friend, Dominic Santini launched into another one of his reminiscences of his days fighting oppression in both the Pacific and European theatres of war, recounting a tale that was familiar to the younger man, to an eager audience, Solomon Nimbani, Sister Eve and Father Patrick Callaghan hanging off his every word, only encouraging the old coot to further embellish his fisherman's yarn.

Dominic was incorrigible, but, Hawke thought contentedly, it was so good to see him on such good form, holding court, and so obviously enjoying himself.

Sitting back from the dinner table, Hawke, feeling relaxed and in good spirits, marvelled at just how welcome these people had made him and Dominic Santini feel in the last week or so.

It had been the most unusual week of Hawke's life, he found himself thinking, hovering on the brink of death one minute, then finding the one thing he had feared he might never have, the woman that he loved, Mackenzie Jarvis, in the very last place on earth he would have thought to look for her.

So much had happened he could hardly take it all in.

It had been exactly a week since they had made the trip to Chief Tutuoami's village and discovered that Robert Nimbani was dead, but that his son was indeed willing to take up the mantle and step into his father's shoes.

During their week of talks, Hawke had found himself liking, respecting and admiring the young man.

Solomon Nimbani was quiet, thoughtful, studious, but incredibly sharp and intelligent, grasping the need to quickly put himself in the political arena, to bring to the attention of the rest of the civilised world what his father had hoped to achieve, and what he now hoped he could do in his father's name, to free the people of Kembala from Joshua Mendofa's tyranny and the threat of foreign invaders.

Hawke knew that it was just as likely that the young man's charm and gentle humour, his quiet intensity and his natural air of authority would get him noticed and win him support, as his crafty negotiating skills and ability to get to the crux of the matter with reason and logic.

All in all, Solomon Nimbani was a very charismatic young man, and Stringfellow Hawke found himself believing that under his guidance and care, Kembala would eventually, one day, become a strong and thriving independent state.

Yes, it had been quite a week.

Quite a couple of weeks ….

Hawke watched with a heavy heart now as Mackenzie Jarvis slipped out of the room, probably thinking that no-one had noticed as they were all so deeply engrossed in Dominic's tale.

He let out a soft sigh as he watched her disappear out into the night.

They had not had much time alone together this last week, both being kept pretty busy with their respective jobs, and because, for the sake of appearances, Hawke had found himself acquiescing to her request that they keep things strictly on a doctor/patient footing, at least here at the Mission. It hadn't helped that Mack had had to make a dash to Nairobi to collect much needed supplies and she and Father Paddy had been gone for two whole days, and once they had returned, she and Hawke never seemed to be able to find time to be alone for more than a minute without Dom, or Father Paddy or Sister Eve seeking out one or the other of them.

If he didn't know better he would think there was some sort of conspiracy going on, to protect Mackenzie Jarvis' virtue!

Indeed, the most time they had spent together in the last week had been exactly a week ago, when his initial meeting with Solomon Nimbani, and Mackenzie's vigil at the bedsides of several of the sick villagers, had stretched deep into the night and it had grown too late for them to return to the Mission. Mackenzie had flatly refused to even contemplate a return flight in Airwolf in the dark, and so Chief Tutuoami had offered them shelter, sharing space with one of his son's and his family, and he and Dom and Mack had spent the night.

Although he had wanted so much more, Hawke had had to content himself with snuggling up to Mackenzie, moulding his body to hers spoon like, cuddling up and drawing comfort from her nearness as he listened to Santini snoring softly on the other side of the hut and the snuffles and whimpers of the children as they dreamed.

After that, Mackenzie had seemed to distance herself from him, throwing herself back into her work routine, and he knew that she was trying to prepare herself for the time when he would have to leave.

That time was almost upon them.

She had removed the stitches from his and Dominic Santini's wounds first thing this morning, declaring her self satisfied that they were both healing well, and in so doing had also removed the last obstacle in the way of their completing their mission.

Hawke had taken Airwolf up for a brief test flight this afternoon, and aside from feeling a little stiff and sore, he had found the controls manageable and Dominic had insisted that he too was now fit enough to make the journey back across the Atlantic to New York, where they would deliver Solomon Nimbani to Archangel and Marella, the finer details of which they had thrashed out with Archangel while they were airborne.

It was all arranged.

They would be leaving in the morning.

This evening's dinner, in the refrectory of the convent was by way of a farewell party, a chance for them all to reflect on the events of the last ten days or so, and on the friendships that had been made at the same time.

And to say goodbye.

_**God, how he hated that word.**_

It sounded so final.

Goodbye.

Hawke suddenly caught Dominic Santini watching him, knowing that he too must have seen Mackenzie slipping away from the celebration, and the look the older man was giving him now told him that he understood, that he would keep everyone occupied, and Hawke smiled back his appreciation as he quietly rose from the table and followed Mackenzie Jarvis out into the deep, dark, African night.

He found her at last, leaning against the far boundary gate right on the edge of the complex, only just within the range of the soft yellow light emanating from the Infirmary and convent buildings.

She looked so lost; he could not help thinking, as he walked toward her on purposeful strides.

So alone.

Trying so hard not to show how desperately afraid, how desperately unhappy she was to be finally faced with his departure.

The uncertainty of the future ….

Trying so desperately to be brave about it ….

_**That damned British stiff upper lip ….**_

Trying not to make it any harder on either of them.

_**God how he loved her.**_

He wished that he didn't have to put her through it ….

That he didn't have to put himself through it.

But there was no choice.

"Mack?" He spoke her name softly, coming to a stop a few feet away from her, not wanting to scare her, although he knew that she must surely be aware that he was there.

There was a full moon tonight, casting an eerie, ghostly silver aura around her, and a warm, fragrant, gentle desert breeze lifting her hair, and he was again reminded of that night so long ago, on that cold and windy Californian beach, as he moved to close the gap between them, coming up behind her to gently slip his arms around her waist, resting his chin atop her head and easing her slowly back toward his body, into his embrace.

"Hey, Limey …."

"Hey yank …."

Something in her voice suddenly made Hawke's heart constrict in his chest, such desolation, such pain, and he found himself spinning her around to face him, only to find her face awash with silent tears, her big green eyes, luminous and filled with love as she suddenly snaked both her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder.

"I'm sorry …. I promised myself I wouldn't do this, that I wouldn't make a scene, that I would be all grown up about it …. But …."

She sobbed softly into the fabric of his shirt, and Hawke brought his hand up to stroke her back in a soothing, circular motion, and then she was drawing away from him again, pulling far enough back so that she could look into his handsome, beloved face, and those beautiful, expressive blue eyes.

She stood there silently gazing into his face for a minute, while Hawke watched her, drinking in the love he could see reflected back at him in her green eyes, swallowing hard as he watched more tears course silently down her cheeks.

"Mack …. Tell me what you're thinking …. Please …." He beseeched, although he had his suspicions about what was on her mind, what she was thinking, feeling, imagining ….

Wanting to allay her fears, put aside her doubts, but first he needed to know exactly what she feared, imagined, felt ….

"Please Mack, I'm not a mind reader …."

Suddenly she hung her head and gave a soft laugh and her reaction surprised the hell out of Hawke.

It was the last thing that he expected, but then, he told himself, she was always doing things like that.

"I know that, love, or we wouldn't have had to wait fifteen years to find out how we felt about each other …." She raised her head then to gaze back at him, greedily feasting her eyes on him.

"Mack?"

"Actually, I was thinking about that night, a long time ago now, a lifetime ago, when in-between heartbeats, I fell in love with a certain tipsy teenage Lothario, and I suddenly couldn't get that wretched song out of my head …. And then there you are, spinning me around, sweeping me off my feet …. And all I could think about was that ruddy song …."

"Which song?" Realisation suddenly dawned on his face then. "Ah, _**that**_ song …."

"Yes, _**that**_ song …." She said knowingly. "I'd been standing here, thinking about tomorrow …. Telling myself that it will be a day, just like any other. The sun will rise. The sun will fall again …. And I will fill the time in-between with all the silly, meaningless mundane things I usually do …. That life will go on …. "

She drew in a shaky breath then, pausing to pull her thoughts together.

"And then, you put your arms around me and oh hell, you look at me with those big baby blues of yours …. And I'm done for, String. I'm lost. I know that my life will never be the same again, in countless ways, because I love you …. And now I have to watch you fly off in to the sunset .…. It's so damned unfair …"

"It won't be forever, Mack. I promise …. I know we haven't really talked about it …."

He pulled her roughly toward him his face coming down toward her swiftly, his lips claiming hers in a fierce, passionate kiss, his arms tightening about her possessively as he moved his lips against hers.

"I swear, Mack. I will be back," he moaned against her mouth, in-between devouring her lips. "I've made so many sacrifices in my life, and no doubt will again, but one thing I will _**not **_sacrifice …. _**You**_, Mack, you …." He told her on a ragged sob, pulling her even closer, wanting to envelop her, wanting to make her believe that she was so much a part of him now he did not know where he ended and she began.

And to his delight, she responded to him in kind, clinging to him, her mouth working against his, her hands roaming all over his body leaving a trail of fire behind, tantalising him and tormenting him until he thought he would lose his mind.

"Oh God, Mack …."

Hawke finally reluctantly dragged his mouth away, starving for air, his heart beating an irregular tattoo in his chest and his knees threatening to give way as he gazed down into Mackenzie Jarvis' passion flushed face, her smouldering eyes.

"We've waited so long …. Endured so much. I can't accept that this is all we can expect, all we can hope for …. There has to be more …. There just has to be …."

A soft smile suddenly began to curve at Mackenzie Jarvis' lips now as she reached up to tenderly stroke a lock of hair that had fallen on to his brow in his ardour.

"What?" Hawke frowned.

"That damned song again …. You know the one …. All those questions String, questions I never thought I would be able to as ..."

"So go ahead, Mack. Ask me," he invited on a ragged breath.

"_**Is**_ this a lasting treasure? Or just moment's pleasure? _**Can**_ I believe the magic of your eyes?" She paused to draw in shallow, shaky breath.

"_**Will **_you still love me tomorrow?" Her voice was so soft he could barely here it, but he knew what she was saying.

"Today, tomorrow, and all the days after that, Mack, for the rest of my life," he pledged solemnly now. "I love you, Limey."

"I love you too, yank …."

And suddenly she was taking his hand and pulling him along behind her, heading back across the dark courtyard, passed the barn and the animal pens, passed the convent building and the Infirmary.

"Mack?" He tugged on her hand gently, effectively bringing her to a halt and straight back into his arms, where he gazed down at her with more than a little confusion in his lovely eyes.

"Do you remember how that song starts, String?" She asked breathily, gazing up at him adoringly, a delicate blush blooming on her cheeks.

_**Tonight you're mine completely …. **_

_**You give your love so sweetly ….**_

The lyrics of the song rushed through Hawke's brain and suddenly he was gazing back at her with shock and amazement as he realised just what she had in mind.

He could hardly believe his eyes.

It seemed she still had the power to surprise him.

_**Who would have thought it?**_

Mackenzie Jarvis, the ever so prim and proper convent girl ….

Standing there, looking at him with such hunger, such need, such desire ….

And an unmistakeable invitation in her beautiful, dark eyes.

He understood what she was offering, asking …. And he also understood just what it meant to a girl like Mackenzie Jarvis.

He understood that it was not something that she would do lightly ….

And he knew that he could not love her more than he did at that moment, as he gazed back at her with an equally wicked answering twinkle in his eyes.

"At last…." She cooed breathily, knowing that he understood her intentions perfectly now, as she reached up to pull his mouth down to her own, devouring his lips hungrily once more as she murmured softly against them .…

"_**Now**_ he becomes a mind reader …."


End file.
